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THE COUNTY FAIR. 

By NEIL BURCESS. 

Written from the celebrated play now 
running its second continuous season in 
New York, and booked to run a third sea- 
son in the same theater. 

The scenes are among the New Hamp- 
shire hills, and picture the bright side of 
country life. The story is full of amusing 
events and happy incidents, something 
after the style of our “Old Homestead,” 
which is having such an enormous sale. 

“ THE COUNTY FAIR” will be one 
of the great hits of the season, and should 
you fail to secure a copy you will miss a 
i'/j> literary treat. It is a spirited romance of 
town and country, and a faithful repro- 
duction of the drama, with the same unique 
characters, the same graphic scenes, but 
with the narrative more artistically rounded, and completed than was 
possible in the brief limits of a dramati# representation. This touch- 
ing story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the 
introduction of an impure thought or suggestion. Read the following 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS: 

Mr. Neil Burgess has rewritten his play, “The County Fair,” in story form. It 
rounds out a narrative which is comparatively but sketched in the play. It only needs 
the first sentence to set going the memory and imagination of those who have seen the 
latter and whet the appetite for the rest of this lively conception of a live dramatist.— 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

As “The County Fair” threatens to remain in New York for a long time the general 

E ublic out of town may be glad to learn that the playwright has put the piece into print 
l the form of a story. A tale based upon a play may sometimes lack certain literary 
qualities, but it never is the sort of thing over which any one can fall asleep. For- 
tunately, “The County Fair” on the stage and in print is by the same author, so there 
can be no reason for fearing that the book misses any of the points of the drama which 
has been so successful.— A 7 . T. Herald. 

The idea of turning successful plays into novels seems to be getting popular. The 
latest book of this description is a story reproducing the action and incidents of Neil 
Burgess’ play, “The County Fair.” The tale, which is a romance based on scenes of 
home life and domestic joys and sorrows, follows closely the lines of the drama in 
story and plot .— Chicago Daily News. 

Mr. Burgess’ amusing play, “The County Fair.” has been received with such favor 
that he has worked it over and expanded it into a novel of more than 200 pages. It will 
be enjoyed even by those who have never heard the play and still more by those who 
h&ve.— Cincinnati Times-Star. 

This touching story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
Which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the introduction of 
an impure thought or suggestion.— Albany Press. 

Street & Smith have issued “The County Fair.” This is a faithful reproduction of 
the drama of that name and is an affecting and vivid story of domestic life, joy and 
sorrow, and rural scenes .— San Francisco CaU. 

This romance is written from the play of this name and is full of touching incidents. 
—Evansville Journal. 

It is founded on the popular play of the same name, in which Neil Burgess, who is 
also the author of the story, has achieved the dramatic success of the season.— FaU 
River Herald. 


Tlio County is No. 33 of “The Select Series,” for 

sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, 25 cents, to any 
address, postpaid by STREET A SMITH, Publishers, 25-31 Rose st«, New Yo*( \ 


THE SELECT SERIES. 

A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION. 

^ Devoted to Good Heading in -American Fiction. 

Subscription Price, $6.00 Per Year. No. 78.— FEBRUARY 21, 1891 
Copyrighted, 1891, by Street <£ Smith . 

Entered at the Post-Office, New York, as Second-Class Matter . 


VASHTI’S FATE; 

OR, 

PURIFIED BY FIRE. 


A NOVEL. 


J \ ‘ T 

BY 

HELEN CORWIN PIERCE, 

AUTHOR op 

“BADLY MATCHED” Etc. 


NEW YORK: 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Rose Street. 










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CONTENTS: 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Tragedy 9 

II. — Justice Baffled 21 

\ III. — A Shock . 22 

IV. — Family Jars — Everleigh Traits 28 

V. — An Old Acquaintance 37 

VI. — Gossip — Everleigh Antecedents 51 

VII. — The Seared Heart 62 

VIII. — Seed Sown in Good Ground 66 

IX. — A Grapple with Death 79 

X. — Warned 88 

XI. — The Parting 97 

XII. — Miss Dale 101 

XIII. — Discussion on Boarding-Schools 105 

XIV. — Laurel Hill — Trouble 115 

1 \ • 

XV. — A New Wardrobe 119 

XVI. — Elizabeth Brent Again 137 

XVII. — Ho ! For Everleigh. 147 

XVIII. — Meanwhile at Everleigh 149 

XIX. — At Home 152 

XX. — A Tutor at Everleigh. 161 




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THE CURSE OF EVERLEIGH 


CHAPTER I. 

TRAGEDY. 

It was a glorious morning in early June. In the great, 
wide doorway at Everleigh, stood two children, little girls. 
One, Lenore Everleigh, had a round, roguish face, large, 
brown, laughing eyes, sparkling and bright ; short chestnut 
curls disported themselves over her white dimpled shoul- 
ders, and her round, plump arms were flung carelessly over 
the shaggy coat of a splendid New Foundland dog. 

Her sister, Vashti Everleigh, leaned against a column of 
the porch, beautiful as a little queen. Lenore looked 
about eight, while Vashti was evidently older, perhaps 
eleven. She had a pure oval face, clear and pale, eyes 
slumbrous, shadowy, mournful ; thick, long, black hair, 
that was put plainly back, and depended in silken braids 
below her waist, tied at the ends with gay bows of ribbon. 
She was slender and thin, quite too much so for beauty, 
but there was a certain shapeliness in her proportions, and 
a grace in her movements, that gave a promise of redemp- 
tion, at no distant day, from all trace of awkwardness. 

Nora, as the younger of the two was commonly called, 


IO 


TRAGEDY. 


had been romping with the dog, and, with her pretty flushed 
cheeks, was resting. Suddenly she started up again, and 
with her curls, and her pink sash streaming behind, went 
off at a run down the road, calling, “Bute* Bute.” 

The dog shook his shaggy sides, and looked with his 
almost human eyes up at Vashti, wistfully, who seemed to 
understand him. There crossed her lips a faint, sweet smile 
that gladdened her whole face, and as Nora called, "Come, 
Vashti, ” she bounded down the steps, Bute following with 
long, graceful leaps, shaking his handsome head, and 
making frantic demonstrations of joy. Now in the front 
of them, now back, down this walk, up that, the two girls 
scampering like mad away from him, and laughing till the 
whole air rang with melody. 

Too much engaged to notice anything but their fun, they 
did not see a gentleman in sportsman’s dress, who was com- 
ing, at a swift run, up the road, his gun in his hand, and an 
empty game-bag by his side. 

He had a dark, handsome face like Vashti’s — the same 
wide, high, pale brow, shaded by heavy masses of jetty hair 
— a small, almost womanish, hand and foot ; but his eyes 
— his great black eyes — were luminous with wild, fiery ex- 
citement, as he fled at that headlong pace up the road to 
the house, looking, at almost every step, over his shoulder. 

The dog crossed his path ; he stumbled and almost fell 
over him, and regaining his feet, gave the poor animal a 
kick with his heavy-booted foot. 

With a low growl like distant thunder, Bute crouched in 
the path, as though about to spring on his master, his fierce 
teeth gleaming savagely, and his eyes like two coals of fire. 
A moment he crouched, quivering in every muscle, but as 
the gentleman, with a muttered oath, kept on his swift way, 
Bute straightened himself again, and with his eyes still 


TRAGEDY. 


ii 


fiercely glowing, his ears flung back, he stood looking after 
his master, at the same time giving a loud, prolonged 
howl, that sounded like the warning wail of a Banshee. 
Poor Bute ! he had not looked upon his master s face for 
naught. 

Vashti had seen that face too; and gasping for breath, 
stood transfixed with indefinable terror; while Nora, all 
her roguish, laughing beauty eclipsed by sudden anger, 
her eyes flashing through tears, looked after her father, 
shaking her dimpled fist, and crying : 

“I’d be ashamed to kick a dog! Bute, poor Bute, 
why didn’t you bite him?” with her arms about the dog’s 
neck. 

Bute never noticed her, save with another dismal howl, 
and another flinging back of his silky, drooping ears. 

Suddenly there was a sound like the distant tramp of 
many feet, which grew on the ear, nearer and nearer, till a 
small band of men came in sight, followed at no great dis- 
tance by another assemblage of men and boys. The first 
band marched with glittering bayonets in line, stern and 
silent ; the latter seemed a noisy rabble. Bute shook his 
head vengefully as they approached ; Nora cowered close 
to him, and Vashti, with one look, fled like a wounded 
fawn to the house. 

They came steadily on — tramp, tramp. Bute shook off 
the child’s arm, and, with his great, savage jaws distended, 
began to pace to and fro in the road, glancing with livid 
eyes at the band of armed men, who came to a full stop at 
sight of him, looking irresolutely at their leader. 

“Forward!” cried the captain, putting himself a pace 
back, however. 

With the word, before the men could move, Bute, with 
a fierce bound and a noise between a howl and a bark. 


12 


TRAGEDY. 


sprang directly at the captain's throat. In an instant fifty 
guns were raised and aimed at the dog, but their fire was 
withheld, lest they might hit the captain also. 

The poor man struggled in the dogs vengeful hold, 
and vainly endeavored to speak. 

At this juncture little Nora Everleigh flew to the rescue, 
crying : 

“ Don’t hurt him ! don’t 1 I'll take him off, but don’t 
hurt him. He thinks you have no right here.” 

At the sight of her pretty, innocent face every gun 
dropped ; and, putting her bit of a hand on Bute, she 
said, sharply : 

“Down, Bute! down, sir — down, I say!” 

The brave fellow slowly, and with evident reluctance, re- 
leased his prisoner. 

“Come, Bute!” called Nora. 

He followed her, looking back at every step ; and as the 
captain said, in a very mild voice, “Forward,” he came 
to a full stop, and faced toward him with a warning snap 
of his white teeth. 

“Here, Bute ! here, sir ! I am ashamed of you !” 

He turned again at her bidding, and in the same in- 
stant there was the sound of a shot, and Nora’s brave play- 
fellow fell with a cry that was almost human, both his fore- 
legs dangling. 

“Oh, Bute, dear Bute! have they killed you?” cried 
poor Nora, flinging herself down by him. 

Bute uttered a low whine, which deepened to such a 
vindictive howl as the armed band, after an instant’s delay, 
defiled swiftly by him, that the brave captain raised his 
gun again to shoot. 

“Leave him alone, sir! Don’t you see he can’t stir? 


TRAGEDY. \% 

Leave him alone. I wish I had let him kill you/' said 
Nora, angrily, her pretty lip curling with defiance. 

The man bit his lip and frowned, but lowered his gun 
and walked on. 

Meanwhile Roscoe Everleigh, as he crossed the threshold 
of the wide doorway, came face to face with his wife — a 
lovely, delicate-looking woman, with long fair curls and 
soft blue eyes. At sight of his wild face she stopped 
aghast. 

“What has happened, Roscoe ?" 

“No matter what ! Where's Margery? I'm wounded 
myself, I believe." 

He leaned heavily against the wall as he spoke, flinging 
down his gun, and loosening his coat with hands that 
twitched nervously, and fell away from his vest dripping 
with his own blood. 

With a piercing scream Mrs. Everleigh fell fainting on 
the floor. Margery Gresham was not far away ; she ap- 
peared almost instantly — a tall, majestic-looking woman, 
not beautiful, but far from plain, with bands of braided 
hair about her head. She glanced with a pair ot keen gray 
eyes at her sister, and from her to the wounded man, see- 
ing, without further ado, that he was .most in need — that 
something terrible had happened. 

“Ho, Philip! Elise !" she called, in clear, loud tones, 
supporting Everleigh, who looked ready to fall. 

He smiled wanly at Margery, saying, with short gasps : 

“I've — done it — at last — Margery — the very thing — you 
said — I would; and the blood-hounds are after me — 
already. " 

She glanced sharply at the door ; her quick ear caught 
the sound of the approaching commotion, and with Philip's 


H 


TRAGEDY. 


help she lifted him bodily, and hurried him off up stairs, 
while Elise attended to her fallen mistress. 

They were not an instant too soon. As they laid Roscoe 
Everleigh upon his bed in a dead swoon, the hall below 
was filled with armed men, the house surrounded, or an 
attempt made to surround it and guard every possible 
avenue of escape — a vain precaution if Everleigh had at- 
tempted to escape — a needless one, certainly, under the 
circumstances. 

The captain of the band marched pompously up and 
down, giving orders to his men to turn the house inside 
out, if necessary, till one of them came to tell him that 
a woman above stairs guarded the door of a room, and 
refused them entrance. 

A woman ! He was just man enough to bully a woman, 
and he marched straight up the stairs, his long sword trail- 
ing behind him. 

Margery Gresham was no woman to endure bullying. 
She was a perfect grenadier of a woman — large, strong, 
masculine in her appearance, with a snarl on her lip and a 
scowl on her brow that made the valiant captain shake 
in his boots. He made a show of bravado, however, 
demanding entrance, but never moving from the stairway. 

Margery Gresham's tall figure seemed to acquire addi- 
tional stature at his demand, and she smiled grimly. 

“Off with you," she said, “and send your lieutenant. 
I won't treat with you. " 

The soldiers, a few steps down the stairway, evidently 
enjoyed the scene amazingly ; and when the doughty cap- 
tain hesitated about obeying the female grenadier, and that 
personage, seizing him by the neck of his coat, dropped 
him delicately over the banisters, the laugh that went round 
was irrepressible. 


TRAGEDY. 


15 


The captain made a great effort to recover his dignity, 
strutted and swore, and foamed to and fro, and at last de- 
claring that he would not fight with a woman, dispatched 
his lieutenant above stairs. 

At his approach Margery flung wide the door, saying, as 
she pointed to a still inner room : 

“There he is, in there ; but he's got his death-wound, 
I believe. Small chance of his being able to be moved at 
present. ” 

She waved her hand majestically for the officer to pass, 
and with a respectful inclination of his head he did so. 

Roscoe Everleigh lay upon a snowy couch, his handsome 
face white as the pillow it pressed. Philip was endeavoring 
to stanch the blood, which flowed darkly over the counter- 
pane, from a wound by his side, and two or three other 
servants were busy about him, doing whatever they could, 
which was little enough, till the physician arrived. He had 
already been sent for, and the messenger must have found 
him near at hand, for he followed close upon the officer's 
step into the room. He was a small man, with keen, 
bright, humorous eyes, a large nose, and a shuffling gait; 
a man about forty. He proceeded immediately to the bed- 
side, examining the wounded man attentively, without ap- 
pearing to notice anybody else in the room. 

Everleigh was still unconscious, but as the doctor pro- 
ceeded with his ministrations, he opened his eyes feebly, 
looked, and closed them again with a deep sigh. 

The lieutenant stood by till the doctor had finished, and 
then followed him silently from the room. 

“Can that man be moved to-night without risk of his 
life ?" he asked. 

“No, sir!" was the emphatic reply. 

“Will he live, think you?" 


1 6 


TRAGEDY, 


“I couldn’t tell you, sir. What do you want of him?” 

The officer turned upon the doctor a look of surprise at 
the question. 

“I know what folks say; that Roscoe Everleigh is a 
murderer; but I don’t believe it, sir. What were the 
circumstances?” 

“Very aggravating ones,” said the lieutenant, pausing 
before he reached the door that led into the hall. “He 
picked a quarrel with a young fellow down here, (Neil 
Roque they call him, I believe,) and shot him as he would 
a fox. ” 

“ Nonsense ! he’s shot himself. ” 

“One of our men shot after him as he was escaping. 
We were just passing when the fray took place ; and when 
we saw the young fellow fall, one of our men, a brother of 
Neil’s, fired after Everleigh as he was running away. ” 

“And then you must needs march your whole troop up 
here, frightening the family almost to death, and rousing 
the whole neighborhood. You must be brave men if it 
takes so many of you to catch one, and he wounded. ” 

“That was the captain’s doings,” said the lieutenant, 
with a significant shrug of his shoulder; “but, doctor, it 
strikes me as a little singular that this man, if he is so 
bad as you say he is, was able to get home. ” 

“Nothing singular at all. Excitement kept him up till 
he got here, and he dropped then from the reaction and 
loss of blood. I judge you have never been in action, sir. 
When you have once seen a battle you will see stranger 
things than this. I knew a man once to run twenty paces 
after he was shot through the heart. ” 

The officer bowed, but looked incredulous. 

“Fact, sir,” said the doctor, taking out his snuff-box | 


TRAGEDY. 


17 


offering it to the lieutenant, and coolly taking a pinch him- 
self. 

The officer bowed again, and proceeded down stairs to 
report to the captain, who chafed a good deal at his account, 
but concluded finally to have a guard at the house, till the 
sheriff himself should arrive. 

Among the men stationed outside the house, was a 
young, broad-chested fellow, with a boyish, handsome face, 
and frank, fearless eye. He stood down the road from the 
house, near where little Nora Everleigh sat, unconscious of 
the troubles indoors, with poor Bute’s shaggy head upon 
her lap, crying and caressing her wounded playmate with 
loving words. 

The young soldier looked with sympathetic eyes at the 
child, and gradually approaching, spoke to her : 

“Is he very much hurt, little one?" 

She lifted her head angrily at first, but his kindly tone 
reassured her, and as he put his hand upon the head of her 
favorite, without any sign of displeasure from the dog, she 
smiled tremulously at him, saying : 

“ Oh, sir, can’t you do something for him ?” 

“I don’t know; perhaps I can; I’m a bit of a doctor. 
Can you get me some scraps of linen, and some nice pine 
stick?" 

“Oh, yes, sir. Is there anything else?" 

‘ ‘ A basin of water. ” 

He tenderly lifted the bleeding paws from her lap onto a 
pillow of grass, and she fled away on her errand. Enter- 
ing by the servants’ hall, those whom she met were too busy 
to ask her any question, and having obtained what she 
came for, she hurried back without being hindered by any 
one. 

The young doctor proceeded very scientifically to wash 




i8 


TRAGEDY. 



and set, first one limb and then the other, Bute watching 
him, with a strangely human expression — and giving occa- 
sionally a long, low whine. 

‘'Can you keep him still now, do you suppose, till it 
gets well ?” 

“Oh, yes, sir, that I can. He’s the best dog you ever 
saw. He always does just as I tell him. I never saw him 
act as he did to-day. He understands what I say almost 
as well as you do. See how pleased he looks when I praise 
him. ” 

The dog tried to lift his head from the grass, with a soft 
bark, rubbing it against the little hand that caressed him, 
and looking as though he did in truth understand her. 

“Yes, I see; he’s a very nice dog, and I hope he’ll be as 
well as ever again before long, ” said the young soldier. 

Nora did not reply, save with a tearfully eloquent look. 
He stood looking at her, wondering that she did not ask 
why the soldiers had come to Everleigh. Presently she 
raised her head, looking at him wistfully. 

“ Well,” said he, with a smile, “what is it?” 

She blushed prettily. 

“Only, sir, I would like to know what your name is, 
very much, you’ve been so kind to me and Bute.” 

He blushed, too, very boyishly, saying, laughingly : 

“The boys call me Dr. Leonidas. They call me Leon 
Brownlee at home. ” 

His eyes were dashed with tears as he said “at home,” 
and he turned his young face away, lest Nora should see 
how those tender words moved him. 

With a rare delicacy she affected not to see his agitation, 
repeating half to herself: 

‘ ‘ Leon Brownlee — Leon Brownlee ! It is a very nice 
name, I think. I should like to have a brother Leon,” 


TRAGEDY. 


*9 


“Haven't you any brother?" 

“Yes, I've a brother; he's bigger than I am, but his 
name is Francis Roscoe Everleigh. Roscoe is after papa 
and grandpapa, you know. " 

“And what is your name?" 

“Leonore. They always call me Nora, though." 

Here was an interval of silence, and then Nora said ; 

“I want to ask you something else, but mamma says I 
am always too curious, and she would scold me if she knew 
I asked you anything so rude. But I want to ask you so 
much." 

“You may ask me anything you like, Nora," said 
he, gravely. 

“May I? Thank you. What have you and all these 
soldiers come here lor? Papa often has the soldiers come 
here to eat fruit ; but I don't think he knew of these. " 

“Why don't you think he knew we were coming?" 

“Because he went up the walk before you came in 
sight ; and he was cross, and kicked Bute for being in the 
way. No, I don't think he knew you were coming." 

“Well, he did, Nora. I am very sure he did." 

Nora longed to ask him more, but notwithstanding the 
permission just accorded her, something in his face deterred 
her. 

When the company, with its gallant captain, departed, 
Leon was left with the lieutenant and three others. Leon 
staid by the little girl, amusing himself with her lively chat 
and piquant expressions, and she so far forgot her trouble 
as to join in the laugh ere long, when suddenly her sister 
Vashti came out of the house, and ran down the road to 
her. 

“Come away, Nora, come away," she whispered; 
“papa is very ill." 


20 


TRAGEDY. 


“Papa very ill said Nora, incredulously, resisting 
her sisters efforts to lead her away. 

“Yes, very ill — somebody shot him; and Dr. Gracie 
has been with him this long time.” 

“Now, Vashti,” pouted Nora, “who told you that? I 
saw papa go in only a little while ago, as well as I am. ” 

“He was bleeding then,” replied Vashti, “and it was 
as much as he could do to get to the house. Come away, 
Nora — come right away ; mamma is asking for you.” 

“I don’t believe it,” said Nora, resentfully; but she 
looked white and frightened, and, forgetful of Bute or 
Leon, hurried away without a word to either. 

As they entered the hall, which was empty, Vashti point- 
ed silently, with averted face, at a little pool of blood by 
the door, and Nora’s terrified eyes followed the ensanguined 
trace plashed here and there across the hall and up the 
stairs. Wrenching her hand away from Vashti, she crept 
cowering and trembling away toward the stairs, her face 
pitiful to look upon, with sudden horror. 

Vashti followed her, scarcely less appalled, saying, in a 
frightened whisper : 

“Not there, sister — you mustn’t go there; come to 
mamma’s room ;” and, with arms flung round each other, 
the two children went shuddering down the hall. 

Mrs. Everleigh reclined, bolstered with pillows, upon a 
couch near an open window, and Elise was fanning her. 
The room, gorgeous with hangings of crimson and gold, 
the crimson-draped window and couch framed in her 
lovely, pallid face with a startling contrast that made her 
look something ghostly. A strikingly beautiful boy was 
hanging over the back of her couch, trying hard to keep 
back the tears that would force themselves through his 
black-lashed eyes. 


JUSTICE BAFFLED. 


21 


As the little girls opened the door, Elise raised her hand 
as if to warn them back ; but Mrs. Everleigh turned her 
wan face toward them, saying, feebly : 

“Come in, dears; poor things! come and stay with 
mamma. ” 


CHAPTER II. 

JUSTICE BAFFLED. 

Meanwhile Roscoe Everleigh, in the hands of the doctor 
and Margery Gresham, vibrated between consciousness and 
delirium. 

Dr. Gracie remained with him through the afternoon 
and night. The next day he was no better, nor the next. 
A week he lay in the most precarious state, and all that 
while a sheriff s posse was in the house. The soldiers had 
gone long before. Poor Bute, well cared for, was already 
beginning to limp about ; but Roscoe Everleigh seemed 
likely to fall from the greedy grasp of justice into the 
no less covetous clutches of the mysterious “monarchs of 
Plutonian realms.” Margery Gresham looked grim and 
forbidding, and guarded him alike from friend and foe. 
The children and wife even were relentlessly banished from 
the sick-room. Whatever Margery needed was taken by 
Philip or Elise to an ante-room, where she took her meals, 
never leaving the sick-room for an instant, except in the 
doctor's care, which was most assiduous. 

One week from the day of the alleged murder, the 
sheriff s men were dismissed with bitter words by Margery 
Gresham. Roscoe Everleigh was dead ’ she told them, and 
with scarce a warning. 


22 


> 


A SHOCK. 

The sheriff was permitted to see him — ghostly, cold, and 
stiff — there was some legal formula gone over with, and 
then the posse comitatus took itself off. 

It was rumored among people that he had taken his 
own life to escape the ignominious and terrible fate of a 
murderer. 

However that was, the preparation for the funeral went 
on with remarkable expedition. The public was strictly 
excluded from all participation in the grave ceremonials 
thereof, and, like a justly incensed public, revenged itself 
by talking. 

There were mourning habiliments at Everleigh — a new 
mound in the little burial ground sacred to the Everleighs 
— a somber cloud of mystery, seclusion, and gloom shroud- 
ing all approach to the unhappy subject, and the sad epi- 
sode was filed away among the records of the past. 

Mrs. Everleigh from that bitter time became a confirmed 
invalid, and Margery Gresham grew several shades grim- 
mer and sterner, and time went on. 


CHAPTER III. 

A SHOCK. 

Three years ! Three sorrowful years had left their shad- 
ows at Everleigh, and now “Octobers leaf was brown and 
sere.” The road and the pretty wild-wood paths were 
strewn with golden and russet-hued leaves, and here and 
there a little scentless, white-faced blossom smiled wanly 
on the still autumnal day. Now and then the fingers of 
the autumn winds fluttered a little coyly, and a shower of 
gorgeous hues floated softly to the earth. 


A SHOCK. 


n 


Margery Gresham stood a little away from the house, 
her stately head uncovered, her bonnet in one hand, the 
other idly smoothing the banded hair from her weary- 
lcoking face. . Her gray eyes dwelt contemplatively upon 
the wooded vistas ; her ear gathered up the low refrain of 
the fluttering leaves, and, with serene thoughts touching 
up the somber hues of her face, she slowly tied her bon- 
net, and went with folded hands along a secluded walk. 
She was returning, after an hours absence, when a shadow 
flung across her path caused her to raise her eyes. A 
man in soldiers attire stood in the way, touching his cap 
respectfully, and saying : 

“Miss Margery/' 

She paused, waiting for him to tell his errand, her eyes 
dwelling almost impatiently on him. 

He looked confused, touched his cap again, and said : 

“If you please, ma’am, I’m Neil Roque." 

The misty gray eyes had wandered away from him, but 
at these words they flashed back upon him haughtily. 

“What do you mean ?" 

“That I am Neil Roque, the man it was thought Mr. 
Everleigh shot." 

She surveyed him sternly, every vestige of color going 
slowly out of her face. She put both her excited hands 
upon his shoulders, turning him to the light that came 
brightly through a vista in the trees. 

“Oh, it’s me, ma’am, and nobody else. Mister Ever- 
leigh didn’t kill me, but he hurt me pretty bad, and my 
brother helped me off, and pretended I was killed, for fear 
he should be arrested himself for shooting Mister Ever- 
leigh. You see, he thought they wouldn’t be so apt to 
touch him if they thought I was dead, so he smuggled me 
off, and himself too, and he got a friend to fool the offl- 




24 A SHOCK ; 

cers with a ‘ cock-and-bull 9 story about me falling off the 
cliff into the lake when I was shot. We laid low till we 
heard the mister was dead, and then we joined the army 
again. My brother was killed at Plattsburg; and, think- 
ing maybe the family ’d be glad to know there wasn’t any 
murder done at all, I came right away, as soon as I could, 
to tell ’em. I’d come afore, if I hadn’t been afeared they’d 
string my brother right up. That’s all, ma’am. I’m stay- 
ing at Tim Jarvy’s; he’s my sister’s husband; if you should 
want anything of me, you’ll find me there.” 

He touched his cap again, and went swiftly away. 

Margery Gresham’s nerveless hands dropped heavily to 
her side, and, as she leaned against a tree, her face dark- 
ened with a shadow like unto death’s. Gradually she 
slipped away from that support, and, unable to stand, sat 
down upon the ground. With shuddering fingers she un- 
tied and took off her bonnet, and, dipping her hand into 
a little spring that bubbled from the root of a tree, she 
moistened her pallid lips, and face, and head mechanically, 
forcing the tide of life to surge up again from her be- 
numbed heart. 

“ Oh!” she moaned, “l must not die now. Father of 
mercy, help me to live and work out my fate ! Oh, life ! 
fail me not now.” 

She sat with her head resting upon her hands till the 
evening shadows gathered close about her, and then, 
struggling to her feet, she went slowly and painfully to the 
house. 

In her own room, she rang for a servant, bidding her 
send Philip Bryce to her, with some wine. Philip came, 
and stood aghast at the deadly pallor of her face. He 
poured her a glass of wine without a word. She took it, 


A SHOCK. 


*5 


sat a few moments with weary, folded hands, looking 
drearily upon the floor, then rising, said : 

“I think I am strong enough now. I must go to Mrs. 
Everleigh. She must not hear this from awkward lips. " 

“What is it, Miss Margery? What has happened?" 
asked Philip, with the liberty which his long service 
warranted. 

She lifted her heavy eyelids, and looked at him. 

“Our bitter calamity, Philip, is all for naught. Neil 
Roque is as living as you and I. ” 

“Miss Margery !” exclaimed the man, throwing up 
his hands, “it is impossible." 

“I have seen this man, this very afternoon, with my 
own eyes — I have heard him with my own ears. There 
is no mistake about it — we may as well face the fact. But 
for Heaven's sake, Philip, be careful. When I am calmer, 

I will tell you what particulars I know. We ought to be 
thankful there was no murder done, but I am so miserable 
I don't know whether I am thankful or not. It is bitter, 
bitter to think it was all for naught. My poor Roscoe !" 

She sank into her chair again, sighing heavily, and 
wiping beaded drops from her forehead. 

Philip approached close to her, his eyes dim with tears. 

“Don't take on so, Miss Margery — don't," he said, in a 
low voice, touching her bowed head with his hand. “It 
seemed for the best then, and it can't be helped now. 
The same fate always overtakes the Everleighs, I've heard. 
It's an unhappy house, doomed to this inheritance. It's 
not your fault, nor mine. We could neither help nor 
hinder." 

She got up again, pushing back her braided hair as 
though it oppressed her, and went out with those words 
dwelling upon her lips like a wail — “For naught !" 


26 


A SHOCK, 


In Mrs. Everleigh’s room she found the three children 
— Vashti reading by the window, and Nora romping with 
her brother. Mrs. Everleigh from her easy-chair smiled 
upon them. 

Miss Gresham peremptorily sent the children out of the 
room, and drawing a chair near to her sister, said : 

“How are you this evening, Eva?” 

“Better than usual, Margery; I haven't felt so light- 
hearted in a long while.” 

A lovely smile broke over her wan face, as she lifted her 
soft eyes to her sister s face. 

Margery sat with her back to the lamp, else Mrs. Ever- 
leigh could scarce have failed to be startled by the expression 
of her countenance. 

“ Lay your head on my shoulder, Eva, as you used to do 
when we were little girls; I have some news to tell you.” 

“News?” said Mrs. Everleigh, yielding to Margery's em- 
brace. “What can it be? Is it good, sister?” 

“Yes,” broke from Margery’s lips, with an energy that 
startled the invalid. Resuming her former tone, she con- 
tinued : “At least it is not bad — certainly not — it is good, 
Eva. Roscoe is — Roscoe was not a murderer ! Neil 
Roque did not die. I saw him to-day. It was all a cheat 
— an imposition from beginning to end.” 

The last words, spoken, in spite of her, with bitter em- 
phasis, were unheard by Mrs. Everleigh, who had fainted. 
Margery lifted her slight, emaciated form to a couch, and 
applied restoratives. Very soon Mrs. Everleigh came to 
herself, with a gush of happy tears, and a burst of thankful 
prayer. 

“Oh, my God, I thank thee!” 

Margery rose, and paced the floor impatiently. Forcing 


A SHOCK ; 


27 


her tones to be calm, she said, pausing by Mrs. Everleigh, 
and dropping a hot kiss on her face : 

“ There, sister, quiet yourself and sleep; I will go now. 
I do not think you had best talk any more to-night. I will 
send Elise to you. Darling sister, good-night." 

She went away to her room, to pass the night in a restless 
pace, to and fro, conning, with a bleeding heart, the prob- 
lem of life. 

Everleigh was an old place ; built, it was said, by a Lord 
Roscoe Everleigh, who had at some period far back come 
over from England to America, and built this spacious man- 
sion of stone, half castle, half palace, requiring at his death, 
that for certain cogent reasons, his descendants should make 
Everleigh their home always. It was said, that through 
several generations, each possessor of Everleigh had renewed 
and strengthened this requirement by will, and that nobody 
had ever known an Everleigh live for any length of time 
away from the old place. 

Singular also to tell, the members of the family had always 
been confined to a limited number. Never more than three 
children had gladdened the parental hearts at Everleigh ; and 
this same weird fatality seemed to pursue till there was rarely 
more than one left to heir the name. 

The house at Everleigh had its region of forlorn, dis- 
mantled rooms ; great suites of apartments, where, through 
the ivy-mantled windows, the bat and the owl flitted dreari- 
ly, and built their nests among the ruins of what had been 
richly carved wainscot; worm-eaten now, and defaced by 
time and neglect. 

It seemed by common consent, that each succeeding 
proprietor had made no effort to recover this portion of the 
house from decay. There were strange tales told of these 
rooms; of sights and sounds which the wind, the old 


28 FAMILY JARS—EVERLEIGH TRAITS . 


faded, swaying tapestry, credulity and marvelousness might, 
or might not have been answerable for. The Everleighs 
always shrugged their shoulders, and looked darkly repellent 
whenever the subject was adverted to. 

This portion of Everleigh was called when necessary to 
be spoken of, “The Hermitage." It seemed to have 
been built first, and bore the appearance somewhat of an 
entirely separate structure. The halls which traversed it 
were higher, narrower, darker ; the rooms lighted by small 
windows, like loopholes, in the deep walls. 


CHAPTER IV. 

FAMILY JARS EVERLEIGH TRAITS. 

A glad morning, serene and fresh. Mrs. Everleigh 
had crept from her room out to a little vine-wreathed 
porch, where the breeze that fanned her delicate temples 
had a breath of early morning fragrance. 

Presently came Francis, with his dark, bright eyes, to 
kiss his mother “Good-morning," and go gayly away to 
hunt, with his light fowling-piece. There were tears in 
Mrs. Everleigh’s eyes as she looked after him. Francis 
was very like what his father was once, people said. 

Vashti came also after a little, for her good-morning 
kiss, the receipt of which brought tears freshly up again in 
mamma's tender eyes. 

“Where is Nora?" she asked of Vashti. 

“She is coming; she stopped to romp with Bute in 
the great halk I told her not to, for Aunt Margery 
doesn’t like her to play in the house with Bute, but she 
will do it." 


FAMILY JARS—EVERLEIGH TRAITS. 29 

“ That is very naughty of her ; she is a great deal of 
trouble to her aunt, I am afraid. I do wish she would 
mind Margery.” 

“Why, mamma? Why should we mind her? I don't 
like to be governed by her any more than Nora does, 
but I generally am, to save a fuss. Aunt Margery acts as 
though she owned us all bodily. I don't like it at all," 
said Vashti, haughtily. 

“I don't think she does act so, dear; I am afraid all 
this unpleasantness is in your own heart. " 

“Don't talk so, mamma, for goodness' sake, as if I 
were a naughty child who did not know her own mind. 
I am fourteen. I am not a child any longer ; and I am 
tired of being treated as one." 

Mrs. Everleigh sighed, but made no answer. 

“Yes," continued Vashti, her smooth, dark cheek taking 
a deeper glow, “I don't see why she should domineer 
over us. " 

“Don't speak so, child. I don't like to hear it." 

“ I don't see why it should annoy you if I don't like 
Aunt Margery. " 

Mrs. Everleigh did not reply, but leaned wearily back 
in her chair, shading her sad eyes with her slender, fragile 
hand. Vashti was about to speak again, when there broke 
upon the air a series of interjective sounds, between a 
laugh and a cry. 

“Aunt Margery and Nora having a fracas, I'll venture," 
exclaimed Vashti. 

In another moment Nora burst into the room, a curious 
mixture of smiles and tears upon her archly pretty face. 
Bute followed her, with a barking and bounding that caused 
quite a commotion on the porch. 


3 o FAMILY JARS—EVERLEIGH TRAITS . 


“You shouldn’t bring him here,” said Mrs. Everleigh, 
nervously. “Go away, Bute.” 

‘ ‘ I wonder if there is any place where Bute and I can 
play,” pouted Nora, with a roguish sparkle of her tearful 
eyes, as Bute departed down the steps. “Aunt Margery 
says don’t go there, and you say don’t come here. I won- 
der where dogs go to when they die?” 

“For shame, Nora!” said Vashti. 

“For shame yourself! You’d be raging all day if you 
had been served as I have just now. Here, mamma, kiss 
the place to make it well,” holding up her dimpled arm, 
discolored with the livid print of fingers, as though a rough 
hand had pressed the delicate flesh too harshly. 

Mrs. Everleigh looked a moment, with legible heart- 
ache on her face, and burst into tears. The arm was 
around her neck in an instant, and Nora was kissing her, 
and crying too. 

* ‘ Oh, mamma, I am so sorry. Don’t cry, mamma ; I 
wouldn’t have made you cry for anything. I meant to be 
so good to-day. ” 

“Did Aunt Margery do that?” said Vashti, sternly, point- 
ing to the discolored arm. 

“Yes, she did it, but I deserved it. I was playing with 
Bute in the hall, when she came out of her room. You 
know noise, especially in the house, annoys her very much. 
I did not see her till she was close upon us, and then I 
darted down one of the passages with Bute after me. Aunty 
followed. I pulled up suddenly at the door of the Her- 
mitage. For once it was open, and glad of the chance, I 
scrambled down the dark passage. I had hardly crossed 
the threshold when I felt Aunt Margery’s hand on my 
arm. I thought it was Bute’s teeth, it hurt so. She was 
veiy angry, or something — it looked more like fright than 


FAMILY JARS— EVERLEIGH TRAITS. 31 


anger, come to think — and she landed me outside the 
door in a twinkling, I can tell you. 

“‘How dare you go there?' she said; ‘your dog even 
has more sense than that. ' 

“Indeed, he had not offered to follow me into the Her- 
mitage. I was so full of laugh then, I couldn't be still, so 
I broke away from her and ran off here. I left her double- 
bolting the door, and I've a notion somebody will catch it 
for leaving it open. So you see it was all my own fault" 

“I don’t see any such thing!" said Vashti, her eyes flash- 
ing. 

“No, I dare say you don't. You'd have raised the 
house if she had put the weight of her little finger on you. 
Precious Vashti ! but you see I don’t lay up such things,' 
said Nora, a laugh dancing in her eyes again, like sun- 
shine seen through a delicious April shower. 

“No," said Vashti, taking up her angry walk again, 
“and the more fool you. Wonderful little Everleigh blood 
you’ve got, to stand that, and all the rest you take from 
Miss Margery Gresham !" 

“It's nater, as Pete says," said Nora, coolly, her arm 
still round her mother’s neck, and her other hand softly 
putting the hair off her face, and wiping the tears that still 
fell slowly. 

From the shadow of the vines that darkened the door- 
way, stepped, all at once, Margery Gresham, her face 
marble-white even to her lips, her keen gray eyes glitter- 
ing. She did not look angry — the expression of her face 
was beyond words. It was as if she had stood, a moment 
before, in the very jaws of death. 

“Aunt Margery, " cried Nora, “did you see the ghost, 
oh, did you ?" 


- - ' 


32 FAMILY JARS— EVERLEIGH TRAITS . 

Aunt Margery looked vaguely at the girl, as though 
striving to collect her thoughts. 

“My child/' said she, putting her hand on Nora's 
head, “your sister taunted you just now with having no 
Everleigh blood. Lenore, thank God every day of your 
life that you have more of the traits of your mother's 
family than of your father's. Be anything but an Ever- 
leigh. It is a bad blood — a hot, fiery blood — that sooner 
or later has brought destruction to all in whose veins it 
flowed. " 

“Margery!" cried Mrs. Everleigh, in a tone of dread, 
from the depths of her easy-chair. 

“It is the truth, Eva," said Margery, with a hard stern- 
ness in her voice, very unlike her usual emphatic energy ; 
“don't blind yourself to the fact. The only salvation 
there is for these children is to tell them the truth. " 

“That is just what I want to know," exclaimed Vashti, 
facing her aunt; “you are alwa;*o throwing out these 
remarks. Now, I want to know what this dreadful truth 
is. I am sure I am old enough to know it, whatever it is. " 

Margery noticed her only with a scarcely perceptible 
curl of her pallid lip, never moving her eyes from her 
sister's face. 

Mrs. Everleigh looked up, and with an expression of 
timid deprecation in her mild eyes, said : 

‘ ‘ I wish, Margery, you would tell them about Roscoe — 
about — about — Neil Roque." 

Margery turned abruptly away, the cloud darkening upon 
her face. 

“About papa?" exclaimed Vashti and Nora, in a breath. 

“Tell them yourself Eva," said Margery, in a low voice. 

“I should like to so much if I thought it was suit- 
able," said Mrs. Everleigh, her voice a little tremulous, 


FAMILY JARS—EVERLEIGH TRAITS . 33 


and a quiver of tears in her eyes. “ I fancied somehow 
that you might not like it” 

“ I not like it ? What if I didn’t ?” said Margery, taking 
a step toward her. “Why shouldn't I like it? The 
sooner it is told the better. ” 

She was leaving the room, but turned back again, 
saying, almost fiercely :* 

“Tell them withal, it was his own terrible, ungovern- 
able temper that wrecked him. Tell them it was no fault 
of his that he did not kill the man ; that he was mad 
with anger ; that it is an Everleigh trait to get beside one's 
self with rage — Heaven forgive me, Eva !” 

Mrs. Everleigh had fainted. 

Margery took her in her arms tenderly, as though she 
had been an infant, and Nora ran within for water. 
The poor lady opened her. eyes ere long, but she did not 
attempt to speak, rest.'vig her head on her sister’s shoulder, 
and smiling feebly, as Margery dropped kisses on her face. 
Margery sat a little, and then she lifted the fragile, atten- 
uated form, carried her in, and laid her on the bed. She 
did not raise her head from the pillow all day. 

All the forenoon Vashti lingered about the porch, or in 
sight of her mother’s door, a wistful look in her strange, 
shadowy eyes — banished from the room, for Mrs. Ever- 
leigh was very ill — one of those nervous attacks to which 
she had been subject since her invalid days, and must be 
kept very quiet. 

At last, late in the afternoon, she discovered, by peering 
through the blind, that her mother was alone. Stealing 
swiftly round to the door, she lifted the latch and entered 
noiselessly. Mrs. Everleigh lay with half-closed eyes, 
scarcely seeming to breathe. Vashti dropped on her knees 


34 FAMILY JARS—EVERLEIGH TRAITS . 


at the bedside, saying, in a scarcely audible whisper, 
“ Mamma/' 

The invalid stirred a little ; the next moment Vashti 
was hurried swiftly and in silence from the room. 

“ There !” said Margery Gresham, in a decided but still 
kindly tone, as she loosed her in the great hall ; ‘ ‘ don't 
go in there again. It is the first time your mother has 
slept to-day, and she must not be disturbed." 

“When can I see her?" said Vashti, earnestly. “Can 
I see her when she wakes?" 

“No; I hope you will be in bed before that time." 

“Shall you be with her?" 

“Certainly — all night." 

“Aunt Margery !" 

She stopped, her cheeks flushing, and her eyes full of 
tears. 

“Well?" 

“I was cross to mamma this morning. Won’t you tell 
her, as soon as ever she wakes, that I am very sorry?" 

Margery Gresham looked down upon her impassioned 
face with a softening glance, saying, half to herself: 

“After a storm comes a calm. You’ll rage as bad as 
ever the first time she crosses you in word or deed. Re- 
pentance is not good for much, when it leaves no more 
lasting impression than that. Better wait till she is well 
enough for you to tell her yourself. True repentance is of 
slow growth with those of your kind, child. I dare say 
you are sorry you grieved your mother, but she would far 
rather you were sorry you were angry. " 

“How do you know but that I am?" was Vashti's pas- 
sionate exclamation. 

“There, you are angry now. Sorry, indeed!" and Mar- 
gery turned away and left her. 


FAMILY JARS—EVERLEIGH TRAITS, 35 


Vashti looked after her a moment, her face distorted 
with passion, and then, dashing herself down on the lowest 
step of the stairway, she burst into convulsive sobs. 

Presently came Bute, and crouched at her side, with a 
low whine of sympathy. She did not notice him, but cried 
on, her whole frame racked with her agitated weeping. 

In a little while came Nora, the skirt of her small, white 
apron gathered up in her two hands, and heaped with lus- 
cious peaches. She was caroling lightly to herself as she 
skipped in at the open door. 

She stopped when she saw Vashti, saying : 

“Have a peach, Ti? I've found some rare fine ones. 
I’m going to take some to Aunt Margery — they're the kind 
she likes." 

“Don't ask me to eat anything Aunt Margery likes — I 
hate her." 

“Hum! What's up now — you and Aunt Margery been 
diverting yourselves again?" said Nora, coolly biting a 
peach. 

Vashti made no reply, and Nora, resuming her song, 
went to find her aunt. 

Vashti’s sobs became gradually quieted, her passion had 
spent itself; and, as Bute licked her hand, she caressed 
him with it softly. Sitting there in the gathering t vilight, 
with swollen eyes and an aching head, she felt very mis- 
erable — too miserable for words — so that when Miss Gresh- 
am, coming through the hall to go to her own room, or- 
dered the dog out of the hall, in those tones that usually , 
roused the tempest in Vashti's rebellious heart, she let him? 
go, and got up to suffer her aunt to pass, going away to 
her own room afterward, silently, but with her heart very 
bitter. 


36 FAMILY JARS—EVERLEIGH TRAITS . 


The appointments of both it and Nora's, were marked by 
exceeding purity and fitness. The carpets and walls, seen 
by daylight, were of that peculiar shade of blue, which 
harmonizes so well with the pink cheeks of childhood. 
The draperies of the room were snowy ; there were two or 
three statuettes, two or three pictures on the walls, as pure 
and lovely in expression and conception as the heart of the 
mother who selected them. 

Vashti entered her room forlorn enough. The moon- 
beams came through the open shutter, and cast a “gla- 
mour” over each delicate feature, so suggestive of her 
mothers lov,e. Unconsciously to herself, the influence 
of that beautiful room on Vashti was always good, and 
her spirit grew subdued as though in the presence of her 
good angel. She sat a few moments by the window, and 
then, having slowly undressed, she laid her head on her 
pillow sighing. 

And so she fell asleep, and waked just as a little French 
timepiece, in the next room, chimed musically the hour of 
midnight. She woke with a start and a shiver, a vague 
oppression on her heart, as one is apt to have who sleeps 
with a troubled spirit. Slipping from the bed with a 
sudden impulse, she went noiselessly to her mother's 
room. 

“I can look at her,” she said to herself, and so she 
stole softly into the room by Aunt Margery, looking like a 
spirit in her white robes and bare feet. 

Miss Gresham did not look up. She was sitting with 
her back to the door, buried in thought that seemed un- 
pleasant, for she sighed often and deeply. Vashti stood in 
the shadow of the bed draperies, wondering if her mpther 
was asleep, when Mrs. Everleigh's soft voice said: 

“Margery ?” 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


37 


Margeiy came in an instant. 

“I should like a little fresh water, please — water from 
the spring. I believe I could sleep then. ” 

Away went Margery to get the water, and Vashti flew 
round to her mother, saying eagerly, and choking with 
tears : 

“Mamma, I am so sorry. I couldn’t sleep till I told 
you. ” 

“My darling! Your aunt told me. I was pleased to 
hear it. Kiss me — there ; go to bed, dear ; your aunt is 
coming;” and Vashti, her lips fragrant with the kiss of 
forgiveness, stole back to her room on winged feet. At the 
bedside, she dropped on her knees now, and went to sleep 
after, to wake in the morning with smiles curving her rosy 
mouth, and transfiguring her face, as smiles always did. 


CHAPTER V. 

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 

Just as the day was breaking Margery Gresham left her 
sister's room. She had not slept for two nights, and looked 
haggard and miserable as she crossed the hall with a slow 
step, unusual for her, whose carriage and demeanor were 
generally so expressive of her energy of character. On the 
landing at the top of the stairs, she met Philip Bryce, a 
large empty basket on his arm, and a bunch of keys in his 
hand. 

He stopped when he saw her, setting the basket down, 
and leaning upon the banisters with an expression on his 
face as though he expected to be addressed. He was a 


38 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


large, stalwart-looking man, over fifty, but appearing young- 
er — a servant of the family before Margery Gresham had 
ever heard of Everleigh. 

She lifted her heavy eyes to his face, regarding him 
sadly. 

“Come into my room, Philip; we can’t talk here/' 

He followed her silently. 

“Well," said she, sinking wearily into a chair, “what is 
the conclusion of the whole matter?" 

“He is about the same, miss, and the doctor advises to 
let things rest as they are as long as possible. He could 
not be in better hands, and he says it is certainly for the 
happiness of all concerned that things should remain just 
as they are. " 

“Well, well, I don’t know but he is right. Mrs. Ever- 
leigh is so nervous she won't suffer that subject to be ap- 
proached without a terrible agitation. I only touched upon 
it this morning indirectly, and she has one of those attacks 
of hysteria in consequence. But it doesn't seem to me I 
can live on in this way. Philip, another such a day and 
night as the last two have been, and it seems to me I should 
— should be as he is." 

“ Dear Miss Margery, you will feel better after a little. 
It is the shock of this news and -want of sleep. Do try to 
think it was no fault of yours. You have kept us all up so 
far, don't faint now. " 

“If I only, only knew that the drug had nothing to do 
with it. " 

“Miss Margery, if anything I could say would convince 
you, I would say it ; I am perfectly satisfied that it would 
have been so at any rate. It was in his blood. It is the 
Everleigh doom !" 

“I don't believe it," she cried, impatiently; “I can't ac- 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


39 


cept this talk about doom. The doctor says it was not the 
drug, and I must try to believe him. But, Philip, mark my 
words. The curse of the Everleighs is worldly prosperity 
and a temper that they have been suffered to indulge. If 
I live long enough, these children shall know what I think 
of this matter. They shall not go headlong to a destruc- 
tion prepared by their own unwarned hands, if I can help 
it." 

She had leaned toward him from her seat, her gray eyes 
darkening from excess of feeling as she spoke, and her 
animated hands emphasizing her speech with eager gesture. 

He shook his head. 

“It won’t do any good, Miss Margery. You're not the 
first one that has tried to save 'em from their fate ; but it 
always overtakes them sooner or later. They're a winsome 
set, ma’am, with all their head-strongness. They always go 
their own gait, in spite of everything, but when the gust is 
over, they come to you with such a sorrowful, melting look 
in their eyes one can't resist it. It’s the best and worst 
blood ever was — this Everleigh blood. " 

He bowed himself out of the room, and Margery, 
loosening her braided hair with a heavy sigh, lay down to 
try and sleep. 

* * * * * * 

“Where are you going, Vashti ?" said Nora, as her sister 
passed her, going down the road on a run. 

“To meet Miss Dale. Philip says the carriage has gone 
to Hart Corners for her. Won’t you go ?” 

“Not I. I get enough of Miss Dale at common times. " 

Vashti resumed her run, and Nora continued an in- 
teresting game with her inseparable Bute. She was still 
romping with him when a carriage drove slowly up to the 
house by another road from the one Vashti had taken. 


40 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


The driver got down and opened the door for his pas- 
senger to alight. A military-capped head emerged from 
the depths of the close and rather ponderous vehicle. 
Below the cap a pair of bright, frankly-pleasant eyes flashed 
a look not altogether strange over the scene. A rather 
slender form in a military coat followed. He had barely 
put his foot upon terra firma , when Bute leaped upon 
him, almost throwing him down, licking his face and his 
hands, leaping about him and over him, with the most 
extravagant demonstrations of joy. 

Not at all disconcerted by this rough welcome, the 
new-comer laughed and snapped his fingers at the huge 
shaggy fellow, while the driver stood with his eyes like 
saucers, saying: 

“That dog must a seed you afore, sir.” 

The stranger laughed again with quiet zest, and taking 
off his cap, looked sharply about him. A little way off 
was Nora, coming slowly toward him with a look of in- 
quiry on her face. She was diminutive and graceful as a 
fairy, as she stood poised on slender foot, her coral lips 
apart. 

An instant she stood thus, shading her brown eyes with 
her hand, a shimmer in them like the twinkle of stars, 
and then, like an arrow shot from a bow, she fl£w to him, 
crying : 

‘ ‘ I knew you would come ; I knew you would come. ” 

He took her face in his hands as she clung to him, and 
gave her two or three laughing kisses, saying : 

“And how did you know that?” 

“Because I wanted you to so much. I have said 
your name over to Bute every day, all this while. Leon — 
Leon Brown — Lee ” 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


41 


“Bute hasn't forgotten me either, it seems/ 1 said he. 
“He walks as well as ever, for aught I can see." 

“Oh, better, sir, better," said Nora, eagerly. “Bute, 
Bute, it’s Leon Brownlee, isn't it? Love him, old fellow." 

The dog rose immediately on his hind feet, standing 
quite to Leon's shoulder, and made a comical attempt 
to encircle his neck with his paws, while Nora, with a 
triumphant look, said : 

“I told you so." 

Leon laughed heartily, and holding Nora's hand, went 
slowly toward the house, just as Vashti, having missed the 
carriage, rushed up to it, crying : 

“ Has Miss Dale come?" 

“Not as I knows on, miss," said the driver. 

“Didn't you go after her ?" 

“No, miss; I went after that young gent as is with 
Miss Nory. She was downright glad to see him, too. 
He's some relation o' yer Aunt Mag'ry, I calc'late, from 
suthin' he said. But I never seed him afore to-day, I 
know. " 

“Some relation of Aunt Margery’s?" queried Vashti to 
herself, as she went thoughtfully to the house; “then I 
don't want to see him. " 

Nora piloted him in, learning to her delight that he 
was a son of a cousin of Aunt Margery’s, and had come 
to see her, and spend several weeks. She left him in one 
of the parlors off the hall, and went to find her aunt. 

Elise was still with Mrs. Everleigh, who was sitting up 
for a little while. Margery was not with them. She hesi- 
tated at the door of her aunt's room, lest she might still 
be sleeping ; but hearing a movement within, she knocked. 

Margery Gresham herself opened the door, brush in 


48 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


Frank, all the lordly airs gone out of him, crest-fallen and 
subdued, his black eyelashes heavy with tears, as he came 
shyly into the room. 

“I was very rude to you, sir, a little while ago,” he said, 
lifting his dark, bright eyes to Leon, and holding out his 
hand with that seductive grace of which Philip had spoken 
to Margery Gresham. “I beg your pardon, sir.” 

“My dear boy,” cried Leon, taking Frank’s hand in both 
of his, and drawing him to a seat, “I like you better than 
though it never had happened ; for else, I should not have 
learned what a fierce, brave fellow you are. It is brave and 
noble to acknowledge when one is in fault, Frank. You’re 
a boy after my own heart. Frank Roscoe Everleigh, I like 
you. ” 

Two or three deep, girlish blushes flitted over the boy’s 
face at Leon’s ardent expressions, and he sat in silent, but 
evident pleasure, while Leon dressed for dinner. 

Leon looked curiously, as they met Nora in the hall, to 
see if these two felt amicably to each other. Apparently 
they did, for Nora came tripping toward them, saying, in 
her pretty arch way : 

“Eh, Frank, you’re trying to cut me out, now.” 

In the dining-room were Vashti and Miss Gresham. 

“Leonidas, this is Vashti Everleigh,” was the ceremonial 
•f introduction which Miss Gresham deigned to take them 
through ; and feeling the bitterness in her aunt’s voice, 
Vashti conceived it to be her duty to be suddenly very 
affable to the young gentleman. 

When dinner was over, Vashti left the room at the same 
time with her aunt, a legible purpose written on her face. 
She followed her across the hall, almost to the outer door, 
her courage failing her at every step, for Miss Gresham had 
taken very little dinner, and looked* unusually grim and 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


49 


fo/bidding. But, courage or no courage, she had resolved 
to ask Aunt Margery a question, and she would do it. 
She put her hand upon her aunt's arm, but the words died 
on her lips, and the shadowy eyes she lifted to her aunt's 
face filled with tears. 

‘‘Well, child," said Miss Gresham, looking down upon 
the dark, handsome face, with a little less sternness than 
usual, “what is it?" 

Vashti tried to speak, but the words died away as before, 
and with a burst of low sobs, she leaned against the door- 
post 

“You wanted to ask me what it was about your papa, 
didn't you?" said Miss Gresham, with a vein of tenderness 
running through her cold tones. 

Vashti nodded, and covered her face with her hands. 

Miss Gresham shivered a little, as though she was cold, 
though the day was a warm one, and sinking her voice a 
little, said : 

“Your father was not a murderer, after all. That 
man — Neil Roque — was not killed. I saw him day before 
yesterday, and he told me how it was, and all about it. 
That is all, Vashti." 

The child lifted her face, her sensitive spirit in arms, 
and said, with a tone of haughtiness : 

“No; it's not all, Aunt Margery. What was it you 
said to mamma that made her so ill ? Tell it to me. It 
will not make me ill." 

“ I don’t know, it might," said Miss Gresham, drawing 
herself up ; “you’ve a stormy spirit, Vashti." 

“Tell me," she cried, the tears bursting forth again. 
“Oh, I'm not angry now ; I am only wild to know what 

you meant." 


44 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


tounding declaration, catching a twinkle in Leons eye, her 
gravity quite lost its equilibrium, and she burst into such a 
laugh that Leon, unable to resist the contagion, followed 
suit with a chorus that put Frank’s handsome face all in a 
blaze. As soon as Nora could stop laughing long enough, 
she said, with her dimpled arm upon her brother’s neck : 

“It was just a slip of the tongue, dear. I heard Philip 
telling it too. It was just two pounds and thirteen ounces 
the pear weighed. ” 

“Have it your own way,” said Frank, angrily flinging 
her arm off; “since you’ve got me in here to laugh at, I 
guess I’ll go. ” 

And off he marched, his eyes in a flame and his head 
haughtily erect. 

Leon and Nora looked at each other, very much con- 
founded, but the whole affair touched their bump of fun 
so keenly that they laughed again more heartily than be- 
fore. 

Frank heard them, and fairly gnashed his white teeth 
with anger, as he strode through the hall. 

Just at this juncture Miss Gresham made her appear- 
ance, looking cloudy and stern. 

“You can go, Nora,” she said, pointing to the open 
door, as she extended a very civil but very cold hand to 
Leon. 

Nora looked up with a surprised expression. 

Miss Margery did not deign to speak again, but waved 
her hand imperatively to the door, and with a half rebellious 
look, Nora left the room. 

Leon Brownlee resumed the seat he had left to greet 
Miss Gresham with a ludicrous air of resignation. She sat 
in dignified silence several seconds. At last, throwing up 
his head with a droll glance, Leon said : 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


45 


“I say, Cousin Margery, it strikes me you are not par- 
ticularly glad to see me.” 

4 4 Indeed? Then it strikes you correctly. I intended to 
send for you in a month or two. I did not want you now, 
as I wrote/' 

“And why, pray?" said Leon, with cool serenity. 

“Because I did not. My leasons are my own, and good 
ones, as you may find one day to your cost. Whatever put 
it into your head to come at all, I can't conceive." 

“Can't you give a fellow credit for a little natural affec- 
tion for his kindred ?" 

“Pshaw! Leonidas, don’t pretend you came to see me, 
when I so plainly gave you to understand that I did not 
want you. What did you come for, though ? What could 
induce a gay young fellow like you to leave the town for 
an old castle of a country house, with no society but two 
old women, one sick, and the other worse, and a set of 
youngsters that do nothing but murder time ?" 

“Very complimentary you are, I must confess. This 
old castle of a country house strikes me as a very charm- 
ing place. I have never seen its equal. Besides, I hear 
you have a ghost here. It would be just like me to come 
down on a tour of exploration." 

A gray pallor swept over Miss Gresham's face at these 
last words. 

“Be careful how you explore here, Leon Brownlee !" 
she cried, with a ring in her voice like the clashing of steel. 
“Let me come upon your foot outside of the daily beaten 
track at Everleigh, and I will have you put out as quick as 
I would a blood-hound ! Neither kith nor kinship shall 
save you. " 

She had risen ; her tall form shook like an aspen, and 


46 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE . 


her words rushed forth like an angry torrent. The young 
man looked at her in astonishment. 

“ Cousin,” he said, gravely, “I did not know it was a 
sore subject; pardon me, I was only joking.” 

4 'Its not a sore subject! There is no ghost at Ever- 
leigh. Let what will come, I won’t countenance that 
ridiculous tale,” she said, half to herself, "and once for 
all, Leonidas, I am no subject for a joke. Speak your 
plain mother tongue when you talk with me — yea, yea, 
and nay, nay — whatever is more than this, is especially 
disagreeable to me.” 

He did not answer, and both sat in grave thought a 
short time. 

"Leonidas,” she exclaimed, fixing her eye upon him, 
"I wish you would go right back home again.” 

"Cousin, I’ll be so good if you’ll let me stay. I won’t 
meddle nor make mischief — I’ll be propriety itself. I want 
to stay — that’s the long and short of it. ” 

"What for?” she said, in her hard tones. 

"Because — well, because, if you must know, I was by 
here three years ago, and I took such a liking for the place 
and the folks, that I determined to come again some day ; 
and in pursuance of that determination, I am here. I did 
not suppose your objection to my coming was anything 
serious.” 

"Three years ago ! That was when you ran away from 
home and went soldiering. Leonidas, don’t tell me you 
were here, that — dreadful day !” she said, excitedly ap- 
proaching him. 

"Indeed then, but I was. What of it?” 

She controlled herself with a violent effort. Evidently a 
torrent of words was on her tongue. To her anxious mind, 
this young, dashing, careless fellow, was an object of es- 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE \ 


47 


pedal dread. She knew him of old — how “he cared for 
nothing and nobody” in the way of intimidation — how, 
from his childhood, he had the most wonderful fondness 
for peering about old caves, and dark, dungeony places. 
She had her own reasons for not liking that he should pur- 
sue his explorations at Everleigh. Miserable as she was in 
mind and body, to the extreme of nervousness, the prospect 
she pictured as before her was almost beyond endurance. 
She began, however, to realize that her conduct and lan- 
guage must excite strange thoughts ; and so forcing herself 
to be silent, she sat still till she could speak calmly. 

“Leonidas,” she said, almost sadly, “I feel ill; I am 
scarcely able to be on my feet at all. I hardly know what 
I am saying part of the time, but believe me when I say 
that I have good and sufficient reasons for not wanting you 
here. What they are you shall know some day. Now 
oblige me by making your stay as short as possible.” 

“ May I stay a week?” 

She shook her head. 

“Three days?” 

“Well, three days be it,” she said, rising. “I will 
send Philip to show you to your room. ” 

When Philip came and marshaled him out of the parlor, 
he found Nora hanging about the hall, with a rather down- 
cast look in her brown eyes. She brightened up a good 
deal when she saw Philip taking his portmanteau up stairs. 
Evidently she had been afraid Aunt Margery was going to 
send him off. He put his hand lightly on her head, with a 
reassuring glance and smile, as he passed her, and she stood 
looking after him, smiling too. 

Leon had scarcely found himself alone in the room to 
which Philip had taken him, when there came a faltering 
tap at his door. Upon opening it, there stood Master 


48 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


Frank, all the lordly airs gone out of him, crest-fallen and 
subdued, his black eyelashes heavy with tears, as he came 
shyly into the room. 

“I was very rude to you, sir, a little while ago/' he said, 
lifting his dark, bright eyes to Leon, and holding out his 
hand with that seductive grace of which Philip had spoken 
to Margery Gresham. “I beg your pardon, sir." 

“My dear boy," cried Leon, taking Frank's hand in both 
of his, and drawing him to a seat, “I like you better than 
though it never had happened ; for else, I should not have 
learned what a fierce, brave fellow you are. It is brave and 
noble to acknowledge when one is in fault, Frank. You're 
a boy after my own heart. Frank Roscoe Everleigh, I like 
you. " 

Two or three deep, girlish blushes flitted over the boy's 
face at Leon's ardent expressions, and he sat in silent, but 
evident pleasure, while Leon dressed for dinner. 

Leon looked curiously, as they met Nora in the hall, to 
see if these two felt amicably to each other. Apparently 
they did, for Nora came tripping toward them, saying, in 
her pretty arch way : 

“Eh, Frank, you’re trying to cut me out, now.” 

In the dining-room were Vashti and Miss Gresham. 

“Leonidas, this is Vashti Everleigh," was the ceremonial 
•f introduction which Miss Gresham deigned to take them 
through; and feeling the bitterness in her aunt’s voice, 
Vashti conceived it to be her duty to be suddenly very 
affable to the young gentleman. 

When dinner was over, Vashti left the room at the same 
time with her aunt, a legible purpose written on her face. 
She followed her across the hall, almost to the outer door, 
her courage failing her at every step, for Miss Gresham had 
taken very little dinner, and looked* unusually grim and 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE \ 


49 


forbidding. But, courage or no courage, she had resolved 
to ask Aunt Margery a question, and she would do it. 
She put her hand upon her aunt’s arm, but the words died 
on her lips, and the shadowy eyes she lifted to her aunt's 
face filled with tears. 

4 ‘Well, child," said Miss Gresham, looking down upon 
the dark, handsome face, with a little less sternness than 
usual, “what is it?" 

Vashti tried to speak, but the words died away as before, 
and with a burst of low sobs, she leaned against the door- 
post. 

“You wanted to ask me what it was about your papa, 
didn't you ?" said Miss Gresham, with a vein of tenderness 
running through her cold tones. 

Vashti nodded, and covered her face with her hands. 

Miss Gresham shivered a little, as though she was cold, 
though the day was a warm one, and sinking her voice a 
little, said : 

“Your father was not a murderer, after all. That 
man — Neil Roque — was not killed. I saw him day before 
yesterday, and he told me how it was, and all about it. 
That is all, Vashti." 

The child lifted her face, her sensitive spirit in arms, 
and said, with a tone of haughtiness : 

“No; it's not all, Aunt Margery. What was it you 
said to mamma that made her so ill ? Tell it to me. It 
will not make me ill." 

“ I don’t know, it might," said Miss Gresham, drawing 
herself up ; “you've a stormy spirit, Vashti." 

“Tell me," she cried, the tears bursting forth again. 
“Oh, I’m not angry now ; I am only wild to know what 
you meant. ” 


5 ° 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


“I will tell you, Vashti. Come down the walk with 
me ; there are too many ears hereabouts. ” 

They walked silently a little distance from the house, 
and Miss Gresham resumed : 

“Your father quarreled with that man about a trifle. 
He was angry before he met him, and was in a state 
similar to yours now. His spirit was in such a turmoil, 
that a word to him was like a spark of fire in a gunpowder 
magazine. Neil Roque spoke that word ; the magazine 
blew up, and sent his soul to perdition !” 

“Aunt Margery, you mustn’t talk so about papa ; its 
not true,” said Vashti, her eyes flashing. 

“Didn’t I tell you so?” said Miss Gresham, in un- 
moved tones; “you’re a powder magazine, too. If you 
had a gun now, I don’t know but you’d shoot me, just 
as your father did Neil Roque.” 

Vashti made a visible effort to control her fiery spirit, 
and Miss Gresham said : 

“ That is something like it. Keep cool ; keep cool.” 

“Don’t speak so to me!” cried the girl, with an im- 
patient stamp of her foot. “I can’t endure the way you 
talk to me.” 

“Your father couldn’t endure the way Neil Roque 
talked, and so he shot him. It’s a famous remedy, Vashti. 
Your father was dear to me as — your father was very dear 
to me.” She paused, and a spasm of fierce agony con- 
tracted her features for an instant. “And yet, I tell you, 
that in his heart your father committed murder. Be 
quiet, child; you shall hear me. He meant at the mo- 
ment he shot — not after nor before, but at the moment he 
shot — he meant to kill that man.” 

Vashti made frantic efforts to escape from her aunt’s 
detaining hand, She loosed her hold as she uttered the 


GOSSIP— E VERLEIGH ANTECEDENTS. 5 1 


last word, and Vashti, covering her ears with her hands, 
fled to the house, crying, “It's not true; its not true. 
Oh ! it’s not true while Margery, dropping on her knees 
among the rose-bushes, seemed to pray. 

Later, late in the night, Margery Gresham came softly 
into Vashti’s room, shading the lamp she carried with her 
hand. The girls dark, beautiful face had a weary look, 
and her slender arms were tossed above her head in her 
restless slumber. Margery Gresham’s stately head bent but 
a moment, and as she kissed the brow of the sleeper, 
Vashti’s eyes flashed wide open upon her. “ I would give 
my life for thee, child, if it would avail/’ dropped involun- 
tarily from Margery’s lips, and shading the light again, 
she vanished from the room ere the girl was fairly awake, 
so swiftly and noiselessly, that Vashti, falling immediately 
away into the arms of slumber, fancied in the morning 
that she had had a dream, and said to Mrs. Everleigh, who 
was sitting propped up with pillows in bed : 

“I dreamed, mamma, that Aunt Margery kissed me, 
and said she would be willing to die for me." 

“I believe she would, dear; you don’t half know your 
Aunt Margery.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

GOSSIP — EVERLEIGH ANTECEDENTS. 

Miss Dale, for whose coming Vashti was so anxious, 
was a sort of maid to the two girls, Vashti and Nora. She 
attended to all the minor points of their supervision, such 
as Mrs. Everleigh s invalid life unfitted her for, and Miss 
Margery did not deign to meddle with. 


52 GOSSIP— EVERLEIGH ANTECEDENTS. 


Far from having any thoughts of returning to Ever- 
leigh at this particular time, she had come from her home 
in a distant town, and stopped over night at the house of a 
friend who lived a few miles from Everleigh ; and on the 
evening of the day of Leon Brownlee's arrival, most 
comfortably ensconced in an easy-chair in that friend’s 
sitting-room, she was whiling away the hours in gossiping 
chat. 

Miss Dale was a rather pretty woman, short, stout, 
comely, and volatile, blue-eyed and ruddy-complexioned. 
Her friend, Mrs. Sparks, was thin, angular, sharp in feature 
and expression, with a keen eye and a long tongue. 

“I tell you, Mrs. Sparks,” said Miss Dale, surveying 
a remarkably closely-fitting gaiter; which she thrust from 
under the hem of her dress for that purpose, “life at Ever- 
leigh isn’t what it is cracked up to be. ” 

“Never heard it was cracked up to be much,” said 
Mrs. Sparks, with her sharp nose in the air. 

“Oh, they’re such grand folks, you know; it is really 
like living in a nobleman’s family, only it is so doleful. 
That Miss Margery is down on what she calls levity, and 
one is hardly suffered to smile in the house without getting 
a lecture for it. Miss Margery’s lectures are short, but to 
the point, I can tell you. ” 

“You know the saying,” said Mrs. Sparks, scornfully — 
“‘Seta beggar on horseback, and where’ll he ride to?’ 
Margery Gresham has no more right to lord it there than 
you and I have. They say the children don’t hardly dare 
call their souls their own. ” 

“Well, it is a good deal so. But, Mrs. Sparks, is it true 
that she’s no relation to the family at all ?” 

“No more’n you and I; in reality, she’s only Mrs. 
Everleigh ’s adopted sister. I never heard anybody deny 


GOSSIP— EVERLEIGH ANTECEDENTS. 53 


that. She's got the upper hand with Mrs. Everleigh some- 
how, and then she took that of the whole house. There 
used to be queer stories of her doings before Roscoe Ever- 
leigh died, you know.” 

“I’ve heard something of the kind — never anything 
definite. Now tell me all you know, Mrs. Sparks; I'm 
dying to hear. ” 

Mrs. Sparks was in her element directly. Miss* Dale 
settled herself a little more comfortably in her chair, and 
Mrs. Sparks began. 

“They do say that Roscoe Everleigh waited on both 
them girls — Eva Stoner (that’s Mrs. Everleigh) and Margery 
Gresham. But everybody thought he was going to marry 
Margery — he was a sight more attentive to her — when all at 
once he turned right round and married Eva. Margery didn’t 
come near 'em for a long while ; but when Mrs. Everleigh's 
last child was born, they say she begged so hard for her 
sister, as she calls her, that Miss Gresham — she had never 
married, though they say she had offers enough — Miss 
Gresham come right away, to see her, and she has never 
left her since. Mrs. Everleigh was a great hand for parties 
in them days; she just went and went all the time, and 
Margery took the whole charge of the house on her shoul- 
ders. Well, Margery used to rule the house, I can tell you. 
1 know.” 

“She rules yet for that matter," remarked Miss Dale. 

“I believe you, but in them days what made it so queer, 
the master and mistress of the house were both alive and 
well, and even Roscoe Everleigh himself never pretended to 
interfere with her. He was a mighty high-headed man, 
(they're awful high-tempered, all of them, ) but he used to 
take the harshest language from Miss Gresham without a 
word. I've known a great deal of the family, first and last. 


54 GOSSIP— EVERLEIGH ANTECEDENTS, 


My Myra was nurse there once ; and Myra has a wonderful 
knack of hearing ; she can hear through the thickest doors. 
And so, while she was toting them children about, she used 
to hear some pretty queer things. Roscoe Everleigh used 
to have such spells, he was so fiery. If anything went a bit 
wrong, he’d fly into a passion and abuse everybody he came 
across, always excepting Margery Gresham. Whenever she 
came upon him in one of his furies he’d look just as though 
he thought he was caught. 

‘ ‘ Once Roscoe Everleigh had a fuss with Philip Bryce. 
He had been out hunting, and was coming home through 
the orchard, with his gun on his shoulder, when he came 
across Philip. He was out o’ sorts, and someway he got to 
high words with Philip, and threatened to shoot him. Mira 
was down there with Nora, and at the first words, scared 
a’most out o’ her wits, she set Nora down in the clover, 
and scampered off up to the house, and burst in upon 
Margery Gresham, hollering that Mr. Everleigh was going 
to shoot Philip Bryce. 

“ Margery never asked a single question, only where 
were they, and flinging down her work, tore away like mad 
to the orchard, followed by Myra. Philip was trying to 
soothe him down, and apologizing for what he hadn’t done, 
and Everleigh was a switching his gun about, and a pranc- 
ing up and down for all the world like a mad bull. 

‘ ‘ At sight o’ Margery Gresham, he stopped as quick as 
though he’d been shot, and turning as white as a sheet, he 
dropped his gun right down there. Philip just made a 
bow and took himself off, glad of the chance. Myra said 
Miss Margery stood there a good bit, drawing her breath 
hard, and bitin’ her lips to keep the words back. At last 
she kind o’ jerked out: 

“ ‘You’ll kill somebody some day, you madman!’ 


GOSSIP— E VERLEIGH A NTECEDENTS. 5 5 


“ ‘ YouVe said it there, Margery/ says he. ‘ I'm mad if 
ever an Everleigh was. It runs in the blood. I’m only 
traveling the road the rest did !’ 

“Myra didn’t stay much longer after that scene. She 
got awful scared besides at something she saw in that old 
part of the house that they call the Hermitage. They do 
say it’s haunted, you know ; and when she couldn’t help 
screaming with the fright, Margery Gresham gave her such a 
goin’ over that she came right away when that quarter was 
out, and I never could get her to go back. She always was 
sort o’ timid, and she said she was afraid to live there; and 
between you and me, I believe she was fraider of Marge ry 
than she was of the ghost.” 

Mrs. Sparks paused, out of breath. Miss Dale had sev- 
eral times opened her lips to speak, but Mrs. Sparks talked 
on so fast that it was quite out of the question. Miss Dale 
was about to speak now, when Mrs. Sprarks began again : 

“You’ve been there ever since afore Roscoe Everleigh 
died, haven’t you? That was the queerest affair. I’d give 
a great deal to know how that man died. Did you see 
him while he lay sick?” 

“Indeed I did not,” said Miss Dale, with energetic em- 
phasis. They would not suffer a soul across the threshold 
but Miss Gresham, Philip, and the doctor. Mrs. Ever- 
leigh was too ill herself to try it, and as for the children, 
Miss Gresham kept them away easy enough, though they 
did make a terrible fuss about it.” 

“There’s mighty dark stories told about that dyin’,” said N 
Mrs. Sparks, sinking her voice to a whisper. “Some folks, 
you know, would do most anything rather than have the 
disgrace of hangin' in the family, and he wouid have been 
hung certain, if he’d lived to stand his trial, though, to be 
sure, they say the man’s turned up now, wasn’t killed a t 


56 GOSSIP— EVERLEIGH ANTECEDENTS. 


all ; but that don't help him any, seein’ he’s dead. I’d just 
like to know how he died, though. One thing is certain, 
if there was anything unfair about it, Margery Gresham 
must have known of it. They say folks has seen his ghost 
at the Hermitage. Haven’t you ever seen anything?” 

Miss Dale shrugged her shoulders. 

“It would be rather dangerous for me to tell what I’ve 
seen and heard. It might be the means of my losing my 
place. ” 

“Oh, dear, I shouldn’t tell, you know. It would be as 
safe with me as if you had never told it. ” 

“Well, you must swear you won’t tell it, though.” 

“Oh, never!” 

“Well, I had been up in the loft reading some old 
novels. Whatever possessed me to come back by the Her- 
mitage I don’t know. There was another stairway, but 
come I did. The door that opens into the Hermitage 
from this is placed in the back of a large, dark recess. As 
I came by, I glanced, half frightened toward it. It stood 
wide open, and away down a long, narrow hall I saw a 
shape, a something, writhing along over the floor like a 
huge, great snake. 

“I could feel the very hairs of my head quake, and I 
was thinking that never in all my life had I seen, or heard, 
or read of a snake like this. Why, Mrs. Sparks, it was as 
large round as an ox, and I could hear a kind of grating 
noise, like something heavy dragged over the floor, when 
it writhed itself along. Imagine, if you can, what I must 
have felt when that crawling thing lifted from the floor a 
face — not a human face, oh, no; it seemed to me the face 
of a devil. I thought I should have died ; and as I fancied 
it was coming toward me, I screamed, as you never heard 
anybody, and ran, perfectly beside myself, toward the land- 


GOSSIP— EVERLEIGR ANTECEDENTS \ 57 


ing. Before I got there I ran against Margery Gresham, 
standing right in my path, and looking only less terrible 
than that creature I had seen. 

“ ‘ What is all this?’ she says, as-I came to a dead halt. 

"I stammered out something about what I had seen, 
and her face turned as white as that counterpane. She 
just took hold of me and set me down in a chair, ran 
past me and shut the door of the Hermitage, and was 
back again like a flash of lightning. 

“ ‘You’re a ridiculous coward/ she said, savagely; ‘I 
advise you to take the other stairway if you are afraid of 
hobgoblins/ 

“ ‘I certainly shall/ I said, as I hurried away, more 
dead than alive. 1 haven’t hardly got over my fright yet, 
and I wish from the bottom of my heart that old Her- 
mitage was burned down.” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Sparks, “it's an awful queer house, 
and an awful queer family in it Did you ever think how 
strange it is, all of ’em dyin’ the way they do? They 
can’t even die like common folks. I am sure I shouldn’t 
want to be descended from a lord like them, if I had to 
take their chances in life, too.” 

Miss Dale looked up curiously. 

“ Didn’t you never hear about that?” says Mrs. Sparks. 
“Dear me ! Well, I believe there is only a few of us old 
settlers does know about that. You see, them Everleighs 
always, as far as I know, die in a queer way — kind o’ mys- 
terious like. Now, there was Roscoe Everleigh’s father; he 
was mighty high strung, but a wonderful handsome fellow. 

“ He married a good piece away from here. Folks said 
she was an orphan. She was a mighty delicate, snowy- 
lookin’ creature, no bigger than my Jane there, with the 
wonderfullest eyes, just the color of a wild vi’let ; but sh« 


5 8 GOSSIP— E VERLEIGH ANTECEDENTS . 


was so bashful and timid-like, you couldn't only now and 
then get a sight at 'em. She had such a pretty way of car- 
ryin' her head, too. 

“Poor thing ! they say she had a hard time of it, and she 
died wonderful sudden. You see her husband used to have 
just such queer spells as they all do, and he'd go foaming 
round like all possessed — and Mrs. Everleigh, when he got 
that way, and came on her with that temper o' his, she just 
fell right down in a heap on the floor, all of a dead faint. 

“She died finally, about a year after they was married. 
He‘d been a havin' one o' his high times ; I don't know how 
it was, but Aunt Mercy always said she believed he struck 
her. She heard her scream, and ran as quick as ever she 
could, and there she was, a lyin’ on the floor, with the blood 
just a pourin' out of a great hole in her head, where she'd 
hit it, as she fell, against a little marble image that stood on 
one side of the door. Her husband stood a starin' at her 
out o' his great wild eyes, and a shakin' like an ague. 
When they lifted her onto the bed, they said he just crowded 
himself behind the door, and curled all up in a heap, chat- 
terin' and gibberin' to himself like an idiot. Bimeby he 
crept out o' the room, stoopin' like an old man. Nobody 
followed him, or said a word to him. Well, that was in the 
mornin' ; and afore night there was the beautifulest pair of 
twin boys born, and the pretty lady mother was dead. 

“Mr. Everleigh never seen his wife again, after he crept 
gibberin' out of the room that mornin'. They found him 
lyin’ afore the door of the Hermitage, just alive, and that 
was all. He’d had a stroke of palsy, and one side o' him 
was as dead as a stone. It really looked like a judgment, 
now didn’t it? 

“He got a good deal better after awhile, so he could 
mumble a few words, that nobody but Philip Bryce could 


GOSSIP — E J EE LEIGH A XTECE DENTS . 5 9 


understand. They had a chair made for him, to run on 
wheels, and he got so he could go everywhere except up 
and down stairs. He lived till the twins was fourteen, a 
handsome, harum scarum pair as ever was. He was getting 
better every year, and some thought he might a got well en- 
tirely ; but I don’t know. As he got better, he got sourer 
and sourer, and one day they found him close by the door 
of the Hermitage, with the blood drippin' out o' his mouth 
onto the floor, stone dead. The doctor said he'd burst a 
blood vessel ; but I'd like to know if people burst blood 
vessels a sittin' still in a chair. Some folks thought he'd 
seen a ghost, and tried to run away. Anyway it was 
mighty queer. Don't you think so?" 

Miss Dale nodded, and said: 

•‘What became of the twin brother of Roscoe Everleigh? 
I've heard hints, and some of the servants told me an 
odd story about him. Did you hear about that, Mrs. 
Sparks ?" 

“Yes, that was as queer as the other. You've heard 
tell, I suppose, that there is two rooms in that old Hermit- 
age, that it's as much as one's life is worth, to go into. 
They say nobody ever went into ’em, and came out alive. 
Well, this youngster, they called him Frank, I believe; he 
was the youngest of the twins — a wonderful bold, reckless 
boy — and when he heard about them two rooms, nothin' 
would do him but he must try 'em, and they found him one 
day under the window of one of them rooms, a lyin' on 
the grass outside, with his neck broke. Some of 'em tried 
to make out that he’d tried to climb in at the window 
and made a misstep and fell. But some others, that had as 
good a chance o' knowin', said that the big up-stairs door of 
the Hermitage was found unlocked that day, and the key 
in it ; and I know good, respectable folks, that thought it 


6o GOSSIP— E VERLEIGH ANTECEDENTS. 


kind o’ strange that Frank Everleigh should climb either 
in or out of that window, when he could just as well used 
the door. He must have spirited the key away from Philip 
Bryce, who kept it, and gone into the Hermitage by the 
door. Some thought he might have heard somebody 
cornin', and tried to get out of the window. I doubt it 
though. Frank Everleigh wa’n’t no such o' scary person 
as that." 

“ They’re a very singular family," says Miss Dale, tak- 
ing a deep inspiration, and looking half frightened at the 
dark corners of the room. ‘ ‘ There don’t a day pass but 
something happens out o’ the common line. Why, when I 
get away, it seems like living in another world. Only the 
day before I came away this time, that was three weeks ago, 

I was walking in those grounds back of the Hermitage, 
when at a turn in the walk, I stumbled right on Doctor 
Gracie, coming away from the house. He looked a good 
deal flurried, and he had his case of surgical instruments 
with him. He made a bow, and an apology, and was hur- 
rying on, when I called to him to ask if anybody was hurt 
at the house. 

“ ‘No,’ he said, ‘no, he had just called a minute, as he 
went by, to see Ellen. ' 

Ellen Gracie was visiting there. I thought no more 
about it then, but latter in the day I heard Miss Gracie wish- 
ing she could see her father, Doctor Gracie, She wanted 
to go home. 

“ ‘ Didn’t you see him this morning?’ I said. 

“‘No,’ she answered. ‘I thought he might come 
for me to-day, but he hasn’t yet.’ 

“ ‘Probably you were not up when he came. He was 
here this morning,’ I said. 

“ ‘Impossible !’ she exclaimed. ‘I was up very early.’ 


GOSS/P— E VERLEIGH ANTECEDENTS . 6 / 


“ ' I rather think I know Doctor Garde/ I said, smiling. 
' I certainly saw him or his ghost this morning. ’ 

“'Miss Gresham! Oh, Miss Gresham!’ she called to 
that lady across the hall, ' Miss Dale says papa was here 
this morning ! Why didn’t I see him ?’ 

“Miss Gresham turned round with one of her jerks, 
a and looked at me with her sharp eyes as though she would 
^ look me through ; and if ever I saw anybody look fright- 
ened she did. She didn’t look so but a minute, though, 
and then she said, in her aggravating way : 

“ 'Miss Dale is given to seeing sights.’ 

' ' I was angry at this, and I said : 

'"Miss Gresham, I certainly did see Doctor Gracie in 
the grounds behind the Hermitage this morning early, and 
I spoke with him.’ 

“ 'And what did the spirit say?’ she says, sarcastically. 

“ ‘Doctor Gracie said,’ I replied, 'that he had stopped a 
minute to see his daughter. He looked in a great hurry, 
and had his case of surgical instruments with him.’ 

'"How did you know they were surgical instruments?’ 
she asked. 

'"I have often seen the case,’ I said, 'at his house. I 
know it perfectly well. ’ 

“She gave me another of those sharp, startled looks, 
and then turning away, said, coldly : 

'"It’s possible he did call, Ellen, but not finding you 
readily, was in too much hurry to wait. I’ll inquire.’ 

“A little after, as I was doing a bit of sewing for Miss 
Gracie, Miss Gresham came into my room, and said : 

'"Your father did call, Ellen, but he was in a hurry, 
as I thought.’ 

“All the while she was saying it she kept her sharp 
eyes on me, not on Miss Gracie, and then she went away. 


62 


THE SEARED HEART 


Toward night the doctor came with a carriage for Miss Ellen, 
and happening to be on the steps, I saw Miss Gresham 
run out of a doorway, nearer to him than I was, and tell 
him something before he came in, to which he nodded his 
head. Now, Im not so great a fool, perhaps, as Margery 
Gresham thinks. I can, at least, put two circumstances 
together ; and I am very well satisfied that she knew the 
doctor had been there at the very time Ellen Grade asked 
her, and that somehow she and the doctor had a secret 
understanding. Why should he be sneaking off the back 
way, through the grounds of the Hermitage, if not to avoid 
being seen by prying eyes? I know there is some secret 
between those two.” 

“The doctor is a widower,” remarked Mrs. Sparks, sen- 
tentiously. 

“Pshaw! it’s nothing of that kind. Those two were 
always awful thick, and if they had wanted to marry, they 
have had plenty of chances. No, it is nothing of that 
kind.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE SEARED HEART. 

When Leon Brownlee came down from his room, early 
the morning after his arrival at Everleigh, it was raining. 
Murky clouds were scudding across the sky, and the at- 
mosphere without was full of a fine, soaking rain. A wet, 
soggy, depressing air everything had outside, and inside he 
somehow fancied it looked dreary, too. The great hall- 
door, which always stood open when the weather would 
permit, was closed. 




THE SEARED HEART. 


63 




Shivering with a vaguely dismal feeling, he passed down 
the hall to find the sitting-room in which he had spent the 
evening before. Bewildered with the darkness and the 
different entrance ways that presented themselves, he could 
not decide which was the right one, but plunged down 
one at a venture. About midway of this another crossed 
it at right angles. More and more confused, he took the 
one to the left, and pursuing it for a little, bethought him- 
self that he had better retrace his steps ere he became 
completely lost, which he began to suspect he was, in this 
queer tangle of halls. But, worse and worse. In at- 
tempting to return, he made another wrong turn, which 
led him on a way that grew darker as he proceeded. 

Suddenly hearing steps near, he perceived that he was 
opposite a door, and congratnlating himself that he had at 
last found the room he was in search of, he put his hand 
upon the latch to enter. At the same moment, from 
the other side, a key turned in the lock, and the door 
opening, revealed Margery Gresham. 

She started upon seeing him, and her face flushed 
crimson, and then faded to death palor. She pushed 
through, however, putting him back into the hall, dashing 
the lamp she carried on the floor, and closing and locking 
the door with trembling eagerness. 

This done, she turned to the astonished gentleman, her 
face alternating with flush and pallor, and her deep gray 
eye like the eye of a stag at bay. 

‘ ‘ Didn’t I warn you ?” she says, lifting her shaking 
hand ; ‘ ‘ didn’t I tell you, Leonidas, that I would have 
none of your scenting game in this house? You have 
got to learn, boy, that I am sole and absolute mistress 
here, and I will not have you meddling. ” 

Leon looked at her in amazed incredulity. The whole 


64 


THE SEARED HEART 


affair struck him as supremely ridiculous, and he said, 
with a light laugh : 

'‘I haven’t the least idea what you are raving about, 
Cousin Margery. I think, as you told me yesterday, you 
must be ill. You talk like a person in a delirium. You 
are ill ” — taking her hand, which she snatched angrily from 
him — "your hand is parched now with fever. Come 
away ; come away. You are certainly very ill.” 

‘ ' I believe I am, ” she said, clasping her head with her 
two hands ; * ‘ my brain seems as if on fire. What was it 
you said about — about a secret ?” 

Convinced now that she was talking in the delirium 
of a fever, Leon again attempted to lead her away; but 
she flung his hand from her arm more passionately than 
before. 

"I know what you are after,” she cried; "I know. 
You want to find out if I have a secret, and then you’ll 
hunt me down. But I am equal to you ; yes, I am, sick 
or well. Let me tell you, sir, I have a secret — -yes, sir; 
but hands off. It’s like molten metal ; you can’t touch 
it without getting burned. Ah ! woe is me ; it sears my 
heart. ” 

She leaned against the wall, seeming to meditate for a 
little, and then, sudddenly raising her head, she said, with 
something of her usual manner : 

"lam ill ; very. Go, quick, and bring Philip Bryce to 
me. Mind, not another soul, only Philip. ” 

He was starting away, when she cried : 

"Stay, let me lean on you ; I can perhaps get to my own 
room. ” 

She leaned heavily on his shoulder, directing him by a 
gesture of her hand which way to go, but when they reached 


2, 




THE SEARED HEART. 65 

the great hall, sat down, shivering and deathly white, upon 
the stair step, saying : 

"It is no use, I can get no farther ; go, quick, for Philip 
— quick, I must speak with Philip.” 

4 'Fortunately, Philip at that instant was crossing the hall 
from the dining-room. He came right to them ; his 
kindly, but usually rather sad face contracting with pain, as 
he saw how ill Miss Gresham looked. She smiled feebly 
at him. 

' ‘ I wanted to tell you something, Philip. Let me see — 
what was't — oh ! if worse come to worse, Philip, trust him,” 
with a wavering gesture at Leon. 

The old man bowed, saying : 

"Yes, yes, Miss Margery, IT 1 attend to every thing, ” and 
to Leon, "we shall have to carry her to her room.” 

" Hush, will you,” she said, angrily, "I am not so ill but 
I know what I am saying. I tell you, Philip, if worse 
comes to worse, this boy here — he's a wild, hair-brained 
young soldier, but his heart is a true one — there's metal in 
him.” 

Her voice died to an indistinct murmur; her head 
dropped to her breast ; they approached to lift her, but as 
they touched her, her spirit flashed up again. She rose, 
wearily, it is true, and would toil, step by step, up the stairs. 
At the top, overtasked nature gave way, she reeled into 
their outstretched arms, and the two bore her moaning to 
her bed. 

Elise came, Dr. Gracie came, and for weeks Margery 
Gresham was utterly unconscious of the things of this life. 
The doctor would suffer no one to approach her but Philip, 
his wife, and himself. The fever might be contagious, he 
said. 


66 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND . 


CHAPTER VIII. 

SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND. 

When Leon found himself at last in the sitting-room, 
that eventful morning, the cloth was laid there for break- 
fast. 

44 I ordered breakfast laid here, this morning/' said 
Nora, turning from the glowing grate to greet him, as he 
entered. 44 The dining-room is so gloomy of a rainy day — 
and such a gloomy day as it is. Everleigh is a very dismal 
place, when it rains, sir. ” 

Vashti and Frank came in soon. 

44 Did you know Aunt Margery was ill ?" asked Nora, of 
her sister. 

4 'One couldn't very well help knowing it," said Vashti, 
coldly. "The whole house is in a hurly-burly about it. I 
went up to see how bad she was ; but she is as exclusive an 
invalid as papa was. Not a soul allowed in the room but 
Philip, Elise, and the doctor. It’s the same old story. ” 

"How you talk, Vashti!" spoke up Frank, with his 
pretty, boyish assumption of dignity ; "you forget your- 
self." 

4 4 Forget who?" said Vashti. 4 4 I’m not talking for your 
ears, Sir Roscoe. " 

Frank's eye flashed, and he said, a little hotly : 

44 If you are talking for your own ears, you might have 
staid in your own room. " 

44 Fie, now," exclaimed Nora, "let’s have breakfast; 
breakfast is a great sweetener of temper, Aunt Margery 
says. " 

4 4 Aunt Margery," mimicked Vashti, with a scornful curl 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND. 


67 


of her lip, and a half defiant glance at Leon, who stood 
silent by the fire. “ Always Aunt Margery. I am tired 
of hearing her quoted, and I am glad this gloomy day is 
not to be made still gloomier by her frowning presence. ” 

“For shame! for shame !” exclaimed Nora and Frank 
in a breath. “What makes you talk so?” 

“Because I believe in telling the truth, that is why. Aunt 
Margery vexes me to death. I don't mean that I'm glad 
she’s sick. I hope I'm not, that is, and I dare say she's 
not much sick ; but I am glad of a chance of a day without 
her to order me around. ” 

“You certainly do forget yourself,” said Nora, going 
close to her sister, and speaking low. “You are behaving 
very rudely to a gentleman who is our guest, and Aunt 
Margery's cousin. ” 

Vashti colored slightly, and stepping a pace toward Leon, 
said, stiffly, loooking coldly at him with her haughty eyes : 

“I beg your pardon, sir.” 

“No, you don't,” he said, with a grave smile, and 
bending on her a look that covered her face with burning 
blushes. 

She turned confusedly away, and took her seat at the 
breakfast-table. The meal was a rather silent one by com- 
mon consent. Vashti did not once lift her inky lashes 
during its progress, and her cheek still glowed when it was 
over. She was the first to rise from the table, and stand- 
ing by her chair till Leon came near, she said, in a very 
subdued voice : 

“I am sorry now, sir.” 

“I believe you,” he said, bending to kiss her hand with 
profound respect. 

She suffered him to do so, and more confused than be- 
fore, left the room. The trio remaining took seats around 


68 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND. 


the fire, with now and then an indifferent word, till the 
breakfast things were removed. 

The sitting-room, as Nora said, was pleasanter than 
the dining-room, being smaller, semi-circular in struc- 
ture, with one bay window, which commanded, when the 
weather was clear, a fine view through a parting in the 
trees. On the ruddy-tinted walls were several pictures, all 
gems in their way ; but over the marble mantel was one 
that few ever looked at without pausing in rapt contem- 
plation before it. 

It represented a young and very handsome man. The 
face — a striking one — was evidently that of an Everleigh, 
with something of the look Frank had, and a great deal of 
that of Vashti. The lines about the mouth were inex- 
pressibly sweet and winning, but the eyes, which at the 
first glance you would have called merry, seemed, as they 
grew upon you, following you about the room, as pic- 
tured eyes do, to shine from depths — depths of sadness, of 
plaintive entreaty, it may be, but certainly of unutterable 
sorrow. 

Leon gazed at it long, and his eyes falling from it, dwelt 
first upon the face of Frank, and wandered from that to 
Nora’s. Her glance had followed his, and now, as it fell 
on her, she said : 

“It is the way papa looked before he and mamma were 
married, only not always so sad. All his friends objected 
to it because of that, and the artist retouched the eyes a 
great many times. But he only made them look more 
and more sorrowful, and the picture was so perfect other- 
wise that it was very much admired. I have heard that — ” 

“Nora !” 

It was Frank who spoke, in accents which seemed to 
say, as he had said to Vashti : 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND . 69 


“ You forget yourself/' 

Nora colored deeply, and was silent. 

A short, embarrassed pause followed, and then Nora rose 
and left the room. 

“My father, as I remember him, looked very much as 
that does," said Frank. “We are not a gay race, we 
Everleighs. Papa s eyes descended to him, and from him 
to us. Vashti and I have the same look often ; and even 
Noras eyes once in a while catch the same expression. ” 

The boy arose as he spoke, and stood with his back to 
the mantel-piece. Unconsciously, at the same time, his 
black-lashed eyes took the very look of the picture, so 
that Leon started involuntarily. Frank was tall for his age, 
and now, with that singular, grave shadow in his face, he 
appeared much older than he was. 

Leon liked to draw the boy out — to watch the play of 
his expressive and handsome features while he talked — 
and he said : 

“ We Everleighs , you say, Frank; your family is an old 
one, isn't it ?" 

“Yes, sir," said Frank, unconsciously standing a little 
more erect. 

The least bit of quiet amusement scintillated in Leon's 
keen eyes as he continued : 

‘ ‘ How old is your family ?" 

“There is a book in the library, sir, that traces our 
descent from the time of William the Conquerer." 

“Ah! You must have some rare old blood in your 
veins, young man. Do you suppose you are any better for 
it? Will it make you, unassisted by your own efforts, a 
great and good man ?" 

Leon spoke half in earnest, half jestingly, but was sur- 
prised to see the color flash like a ruby cloud over Frank's 


7 o 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND . 


face. The boy for an instant partially turned away from 
him, biting his lips fiercely, took two or three impatient 
steps toward the door, and, wheeling suddenly, said, with 
his eyes looking hotly through tears : 

“I don't mean to be angry, sir — I don’t want to be — 
but I can't help it when any one approaches that subject . 9 

‘ ‘ My dear boy, " said Leon, * I did not intend to hurt 
you. What I said to you I could have said just as ap- 
propriately to any other boy who prided himself upon 
his descent. I do think it is a little foolish to be proud of 
such things, but I did not mean to be personal, or grieve 
you. " 

“It's not that, sir. Indeed, I don't know but you are 
right about it being foolish to be proud of such a thing 
as a long descent. But it was not that I was so silly as to 
feel touched about; I thought you meant to warn me 

for fear " He stopped, stammering and blushing. 

“Papa and grandpa were wild young men; I thought you 
meant something about that. " 

“ I did not even know that it was so ; you are too sensi- 
tive, Frank. If I wanted to talk with you on such a 
matter, I should not speak in the light strain I did then ; 
and I should first exact a promise from you to take what- 
ever I might say kindly. " 

At this moment Nora came in, and, lifting his eyes 
gratefully to Leon, without other reply, Frank left the 
room as Nora entered it. 

Nora's usually sparkling face was graver than its wont. 
There was an almost imperceptible drooping of the corners 
of her mouth and eyes, as she came in and stood on the 
hearth, absently looking in the fire. 

Leon watched her. 

‘ ‘ These Everleighs " were a very fascinating study to him. 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND. 




But particularly this one, drooping there at the fireside, in 
an altogether new mood, interested him. He thought she 
had a very sweet face ; he liked the frank and outspoken 
fearlessness of her brown eyes ; he liked the pretty sweep 
of her clustering curls about the roses and snow of her 
cheeks and brow. Watching her now, thoughtful upon 
the hearth, an irresistible desire seized him to know what 
she was thinking of. Crossing to where she stood, he sud- 
denly prisoned both her fluttering hands in his. 

“ Lenore !” he said. 

She lifted her dreamy eyes to his face. 

“I want to make a contract with you. You said to me 
once that you wished you had a brother Leon Brownlee. 
I will be your brother, and you shall be my little sister. 
Is it a bargain ?” 

“ I should like it very much, sir.” 

“Sir !” he interrupted her. “You must say Leon.” 

She smiled and nodded, but the smile was not her usual 
mirthful one. 

He drew her away to the bay window, brought a 
cushioned chair, and ensconcing her therein, sat himself 
down near. 

“Now,” he said, “I want to know the meaning of this 
dreary little face ?” 

“If I could — if I might talk to you just as though you 
were my brother. The rest laugh at me, or get angry, 
except mamma, and she must not be worried.” 

“You may say anything you like to me.” 

“But they say I ask such foolish questions. Sha’nt I 
trouble you ?” 

“You need never fear troubling me; but you must 
decide in your own mind before you ask me, whether the 
question you are about to propose is a suitable one to 


72 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND. 


present to me. You know, Nora, there are some subjects 
that it would be quite unsuitable to mention outside of 
your own family.” 

She thought a little. 

“ Yes, sir ; but I have heard people who did not belong 
to the family speak of these things, when th^y thought I 
was out of hearing or asleep. I always ran away, or 
stopped my ears, for I would despise being an eaves- 
dropper ; but I heard portions of what they said, for all 
that, and — I don’t really think it would be wrong to tell 
them to you, if you will let me, and they bother me so, 
sir, you don’t know. 

“One day, soon after papa died, I was sitting in a thicket 
of grape-vines down the road, when some ladies passed. 
They had been up to the house for a call ; but mamma was 
very ill, and Aunt Margery would not see them, so they had 
to go away without seeing anybody but Miss Dale, who re- 
ceived them. As they passed near me, I heard one say to 
the other, very spitefully, something about riches, and being 
stuck up, and about papa and a curse. I looked in the 
dictionary for that word, curse, for I wondered very much 
about papa dying, and thought maybe that had something 
to do with it, and I found it meant 'a wish of evil.' I have 
remembered it ever since, and thought a great deal about 
it. People don’t give me much credit for thinking — they 
say I am a rattle-head — but I do think quite as much as 
some others. I have heard a great deal more since, on the 
same subject. Aunt Margery says our riches are our curse ; 
but I don't think that was what those ladies meant. One 
day, when Miss Dale had a friend here, and they were look- 
ing at that picture, ” pointing to the one over the mantel, 
“I heard her friend say : ‘He must have been thinking of 
that curse when that was painted.' Just then they saw 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND. 


73 


Vashti and me, and Miss Dale said 4 Hush ’ to her friend. 
Vashti said she intended to know what they meant, and I 
believe she made Miss Dale tell her. But she always said 
‘chut’ when I asked her if she knew, and called me a silly 
child. She would not tell me. Aunt Margery bids me be 
thankful that I am more a Stoner than an Everleigh — mam- 
ma was a Stoner — and when I ask her why, she says, 
‘Look at Vashti and Frank. Would I rather be either of 
them than myself?' Of course I would not ; particularly at 
certain times. They are more fiery than I. ” 

“ Do you never get angry, Nora?" 

‘ ‘ I wish I never did, sir ; but I do — not so often as they, 
but very unreasonable, when I do. I don’t know anything 
what I am about when I am angry. Miss Dale got fright- 
ened about a month ago, at a pretty pet bird of mine, and 
killed him. He escaped from his cage in the evening, and 
got into her room. She pretended she thought it was a 
bat. She is near-sighted, and a great coward. I missed 
him, and was looking for him. I found him in her room, 
she chasing him with a pillow. I called out to her that it 
was my bird, but she declared it was a bat, and threw the 
pillow at it with all her strength. He was quite dead 
when I got to him. The breath was literally knocked out of 
him, and I believe she did it on purpose. I was so angry 
that I have not got over it yet. I don’t know what I did. 
I believe I smashed some china and gilt mandarins that 
were Miss Dale’s especial delight, ’ for I saw the pieces 
in the morning. I know I behaved dreadfully. Miss Dale 
was, or pretended to be, very much frightened, and went 
herself for Aunt Margery. I had cooled down a little 
when she got back, but I was still so excited that I could 
hardly stand for trembling. Aunt Margery bade me 
go right away to my own room; and when I did not 


74 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND. 


obey, she took me in her arms, and herself carried me 
there, struggling. The next day she talked with me about 
it, and told me the Everleigh temper was the Everleigh 
curse, and that I had more than she liked of it. So you 
see, I get no satisfaction from anybody. All this seems like 
great nonsense to me, but it annoys me/' 

She ceased speaking, and he sat in grave thought for a 
little while. At last she said, timidly : 

“ Have you nothing to say to me, Leon?" 

She stumbled very prettily on the new appellation. 
He smiled slightly. 

“Yes, a great deal; but I don't know where to begin. 
What you hear Miss Dale and people of her kind say, I 
should not mind. It is probably nothing but gossip. As 
for what your aunt says, I am afraid, Nora, she is right 
about temper. A bad temper is a curse, Nora." 

“But you would not want one to have no temper, would 
you?" cried Nora. 

“No ; but better none than one not under complete con- 
trol. I am afraid " 

He paused, looking thoughtfully at her. 

“Shall I tell you the truth, just what I think?" 

“Yes, sir, please." 

“I am afraid that you Everleighs are a little too proud of 
your temper. No, not a little, but a great deal. I pre- 
sume you are not conscious of it, but I am afraid, on self- 
examination, you would find it so." 

Nora looked startled ; her face burned with a deep, fiery 
blush, and in utter confusion, she covered it with her 
hands. 

Leon got up, and crossing the room to the fire, stood a 
little while to give her time to recover herself. He was 
looking at the portrait over the mantel in vague thought. 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND. 


75 


when he felt her light touch upon his arm, and lifting 
her frank, young face, bathed in tears, she said : 

“It is true, sir/' and leaning against the wall, she cried 
again, quietly, but shedding profuse tears. 

“My dear little sister,” said he, putting his arm round 
her shoulders. “ have I grieved you so much ?” 

“No, it is not you that grieved me } but the truth. I 
am so ashamed to find that it is so — that I have been 
proud of anything so wretched and bad. I have thought 
a thousand times that I would not be so fretful and cross 
as — as some people I know,” she added, with a delicate 
reserve that did not hide from him that it was Vashti and 
Frank of whom she thought, “not for all the world ; but 
I see now it was all vain glory. I am just as bad as they ; 
and what is worse, sir, I don’t see how I am to be any 
better. I am angry before I know it ; and then I don't 
know anything what I am about.” 

“We read,” said he, “that ‘he that ruleth his own 
spirit, is greater than he that taketh a city/ If you are 
conscious of the magnitude of your undertaking, it is a 
great deal gained. It is never best to underrate the nature 
of any obstacle necessary to be overcome. ” 

“But, sir, when I am angry, it seems to me so reason- 
able, so right, that I should be so, just for that time.” 

“That is the very danger, Lenore. I can tell you a 
rule that will keep you all right, even then. If your anger 
seems ever so reasonable, don't vent it at the time. Put 
your hand resolutely on your mouth, and say to your feet, 

4 To the right about; march!' Wait two hours, or even 
one, till you are quite cool, and then confer with reason. 
There is scarcely one time in five hundred when silence, 
or a soft answer, will not do the business better than a 
hurricane of fierce words; and, Nora, when Vashti wonder# 


76 SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND . 


why Miss Dale doesn’t come, or praises her extravagantly, 
I wouldn't make any reply, if I were you, at least not a 
tantalizing one." 

Nora’s head dropped again, as she said, meekly, “Yes, 
sir." She remembered how the night before she had 
vexed Vashti terribly with an expression of her dislike for 
Miss Dale. 

“It is these little transgressions," he continued, “that 
weaken the walls, so that when the enemy make a grand 
rush, they give way, and before you know it you are gone. 
There, now, I have read you quite a lecture," he said, 
gayly. “I think you and I need a little exercise, Nora ; 
how shall we get it ? I don’t believe two or three turns 
down that road would hurt us, if it does rain. What 
do you say? Yes? Well, run and get a cloak and some 
thick shoes. No umbrella, mind you ; we can’t be cum- 
bered with one." 

She skipped away, and was back again in no time, 
bringing also his overcoat and cap. 

They had a fine run, and came in just in time to get 
rested before dinner, which was also set in the sitting- 
room. Vashti and Frank were already there, looking 
quite the reverse of cheerful. Both glanced with a sur- 
prised air at Leon’s and Nora’s flushed cheeks and radiant 
eyes as they came in, laughing and chatting. Their good 
spirits proved contagious, and before dinner was over 
Frank was telling with infinite gusto about a hunting 
expedition of his on just such a day as this, and Vashti 
had twice curved her lips into the faint, sweet smile 
that transfigured her face, as moonlight does the plainest 
features. 

After dinner, Leon paced to and fro across the room, 
Frank and Nora at either side, and Vashti standing in the 


SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND . 


77 


bay window. Won by the charmed conversation, however, 
she came gradually out of herself, and talked only asVashti 
could, on subjects beyond the range of most children of her 
age. A graceful, and even brilliant chat it was, with Leon 
exercising his peculiar faculty for drawing out, till Vashti 
scarcely knew herself. 

The afternoon passed more pleasantly than the morning 
had, and toward night Miss Dale came, greatly to Vashti’s 
delight, pretending that she was just this day from home, 
and had traveled through the inclement weather, so anxious 
was she to get back to dear Everleigh and the darling chil- 
dren. 

She covered Vashti with kisses, and would have done the 
same to Nora if she could have got beyond the cool tips of 
that young lady's fingers. Shook hands with and kissed 
Frank, declaring that he had grown a full inch while she 
had been gone; was charmingly deferential to Mr. Leon 
Brownlee, as introduced by Vashti ; and having secured one 
of the most comfortable chairs in the room, proved to be in 
wonderfully fine spirits, Leon thought, for a lady who had 
traveled all day. 

From the instant of her arrival she completely engrossed 
Vashti, and the pleasant little party seemed somehow quite 
broken up. In some indescribable way, Miss Dale monop- 
olized them all, while at the same time, at least two, were 
not pleased with the proceeding. 

To Leon, Miss Dale’s vivacious style of usurping the con- 
versation of the room, was unmitigated rudeness. 

“Why didn’t you take her down from her heights V 
laughed Nora the next day. “You ought to see Aunt 
Margery do it. Aunt Margery can shut her up in a minute. 
She never has to look at her but once, and the dear woman 
is mum from that instant.” 


78 SEED SOWN IN GOOD GROUND . 


Miss Gresham was no better, and in consideration of this, 
Mrs. Everleigh's illness, and the presence of a visitor, Miss 
Dale postponed reopening school for a while. 

Leon felt justified in prolonging his visit beyond the pre- 
scribed three days, under the circumstances, and his society 
proved of unspeakable value to Nora. The child had been, 
as it were, running to waste for lack of a genial companion. 

The rainy weather continued for three weeks with slight 
intermissions. Leon, Nora, and sometimes, but not al- 
ways, Frank, went on exploring expeditions from one end 
to the other of the habitable portion of the house, looking 
at rooms rarely used nowadays, quaintly furnished and 
quaintly decorated with stores ot old-time gear that might 
have, and probably did, come over with that Lord Ever- 
leigh who had built the house. 

In the attic, in turning over some of the hereditary spoils, 
they came upon a picture, with its face to the wall. 

“It is Vashti's l” exclaimed Nora ; “it was painted a year 
or two ago ; but Vashti can't endure the sight of it ; she 
says it looks more like a ghost than her, and she must have 
hid it up here. She looks very much like papa ; don't you 
think so?" said Nora, turning it toward the light. 

It was a very beautiful picture, but there was the same 
unfathomably sad look in the dusky eyes that characterized 
Roscoe Everleigh's picture down stairs. 

“Yes," Nora said, replying to his glance, for he had not 
spoken. “Isn't it strange that they should have that look? 
Papa never liked his picture either, and always, till after he 
died, it hung with its face to the wall. After papa died, 
Aunt Margery had the picture hung in the dining-room 
first, and then she removed it to our sitting-room, because, 
she said, wherever we were most there it ought to be, and 
she bade us study it. I loved papa dearly, but when I 


A GRAPPLE WITH DEATH. 


79 


look at that picture, it makes my heart ache. I don't see 
why we should study it, do you ?” 

Leon made some evasive answer. He did understand 
Miss Gresham's object, he thought, but he could not find 
it in his heart to tell Nora. 

Roscoe Everleigh had brought his fate upon himself by 
the indulgence of his rash temper; and Leon fancied 
that Miss Gresham intended that his children should 
gradually grow into a feeling as if it was retribution that 
overtook him, that darkened his splendid eyes with that 
fathomless gloom. 

As they left the attic, absorbed in thought, neither ob- 
served that they had not replaced Vashti's picture. When 
they came again a few days after, it was gone — had van- 
ished utterly. 


j CHAPTER IX. 

1 

A GRAPPLE WITH DEATH. 

It was the third week of Margery Gresham's illness, and 
still the doctor shook his head, saying that the disease had 
not even reached its height. Stern in constitution as dis- 
position, Margery Gresham battled fiercely with her dis- 
ease. 

Those were days when the higher the fever, the hotter 
they kept the sick-room, when a draught of pure cold water 
was considered radical poison, but notwithstanding the 
closed doors and windows of the fevered precinct, often 
there came thrilling to the ears of the Everleigh house- 
hold shrieks and cries that appalled the stoutest heart of 
them all. There were days at a time when evidently they 


8o 


A GRAPPLE WITH DEATH. 


were having terrible times in the sick-room, when Philip 
and the doctor came from it, weary and panting like men 
overcome with excessive fatigue. In the paroxysms of the 
fever, it was only by the main strength of two men and a 
woman that Margery was kept in her room. 

“She will never be better till she yields,” said Dr. 
Gracie. “She keeps the fever up by fighting it.” 

One day he came to Leon Brownlee, saying : 

“Young man, we must have help in taking care of that 
sick woman, and there is nobody in the house fit to go 
near her but you. Bryce and I are completely worn out. 
She is a perfect giantess, and at times as bad as a mad 
woman. We keep a strait-jacket on her some of the 
time. Will you try it ?” 

“Certainly, if you say so ; I shall be glad to be of any 
service. But, doctor, why don't you have some woman to 
relieve Elise ?” 

“Because there isn’t another sensible one in the house. 
No, no, Elise is a jewel ; she’ll stand it, I’m convinced. 
We favor her all we can. But, Mr. — Mr. Brownlee I be- 
lieve your name is — you’re related to Miss Gresham, I 
hear?” 

“Yes, sir ; she was my mothers cousin.” 

“Well, sir, as kindred of hers, I suppose you might be 
trusted with her life, eh ?” 

“Sir V' exclaimed Leon, astonished at such an address. 

“Or something that she holds dearer than life,” con- 
tinued the doctor ; “the occurrence, for instance, that is 
the immediate cause of this present illness ?” 

“You speak blindly, sir. I am incapable of betraying 
any trust reposed in me. ” 

“Exactly; right, sir, right. Miss Gresham is delirious 
most of the time, and might say something in her ravings 


A GRAPPLE WITH DEATH. 


81 


that she would not like to have come to common ears. 
The fact is, sir,” said the doctor, dropping his voice to a 
whisper, “that we must have some one to help us. Miss 
Gresham, crazy as she is, begs for you continually. But in 
admitting you to her room, we are trusting you with a 
secret that intimately concerns not only her welfare, but 
that of the poor lady yonder — Mrs. Everleigh. One whis- 
per of the nature of this secret, which Miss Gresham has 
constantly on her tongue, would drop that lady in her grave 
more surely than a bullet sped to her heart.” 

Leon looked at the doctor in astonished doubt, wonder- 
ing if he had not contracted the fever from his patient. 

Without seeming to notice his bewilderment, Dr. Gracie 
continued : 

“One word more, Mr. Brownlee. Whatever doubt or 
wonderment, whatever terrible suspicion may rise in your 
heart from hearing Margery Greshams ravings, let me 
warn you to withhold your judgment for the present. 
Though she shrouds in her heart a secret that has blasted 
her life — though she raves of an appalling event within her 
knowledge, let me remind you that a greater than you or 
me has said, 'Judge not/ Ask me no questions; I cannot 
answer them, and you would be sorry if I did. No, you 
are a sensible fellow, I believe. I like the look of you, 
anyhow. Keep your own counsel, and pay as little atten- 
tion as possible to Miss Gresham’s ravings. ” 

He took him up to a room that opened out of Margery’s, 
and left him, saying : 

‘ ‘ She is dozing for a little now. Elise will speak to you 
when you are wanted. When you are not, you will remain 
here, and should any one come, which is not likely, you 
are to send them off, as fast as they can go — any one, that 
is, except Philip, Elise, or myself ; you understand ? Well, 


82 


A GRAPPLE WITH DEATH, 


I’m off for a rest. Philip will relieve you, or help you, 
whenever it is necessary. ” 

The door closed upon the physician softly, and Leon 
found himself alone and in a somewhat novel situation. All 
was quiet — so quiet that he could hear the crackle of the 
fire from the next room, and the faint rustle of the falling 
leaves outside. The silence and the close room oppressed 
him. He rose, to vary the tedium of the time with a slow 
walk to and fro, but the air of the room seemed to him 
tainted, and approaching the sash he threw it open and sat 
down beside it. 

It was a sunny day for the season, even warm ; the tap, 
tap, tap, of the woodpecker echoed among the almost leaf- 
less aisles, and the oaks tossed their giant branches in fear- 
less strength against the autumn sky. 

The door of the sick-room opened ; Elise put her head 
through, and seeing the open window, looked aghast with 
consternation. 

“It must be shut instantly,” she said, under her breath, 
as she came into the room, shutting the door after her 
carefully, and herself closing the window in the face of 
Leons remonstrance. “She is awake,” she continued, 
“tossing, but middling calm, considering; she is asking 
for you, and looks sort of natural. Will you come in, 
sir?” 

He followed her silently, almost gasping for breath, as 
the close, stifling atmosphere struck him, laden with the 
odor of drugs. 

Margery Gresham was restless, her eyes fiery, her lips 
parched, her face scarlet hot, her heavy, unbound hair 
trailing over the pillow. There was a fire on the hearth, 
but it was the only cheerful thing there. The windows were 


A GRAPPLE WITH DEATH. 83 

draped with funereal precision, and the room looked like the 
darkened cell of a recluse. 

Margery did not recognize him, but she suffered the touch 
of his cool, strong hand upon her fevered head, and then 
scanning his brave young face, seemed to rest her wander- 
ing eyes. With her purple, swollen lips she said, in grieved 
tones : 

“They won’t give me my soldier-boy, and I want him 
so.” 

Soothing her gently with his hand, his low tones, his soft, 
deep eye, he gathered up her tangled hair, and tenderly as 
a woman might, bound it away from her face. She looked 
relieved, and putting up her hot hand drew his ear down to 
her lips. 

“Give me some water, for the love of Heaven!” she 
whispered. 

Elise, standing at the foot of the bed, shook her head as 
Leon looked at her. 

“Not a drop,” she said; “it is the doctor’s orders . 99 

“Why not?” said Leon. 

“It would kill her, certain.” 

“Nonsense, I’m doctor enough to know better myself* 
Will fresh air kill her too?” 

Elise nodded. 

During this conversation Miss Gresham had resumed 
her tossing, flinging her arms wildly about, muttering to her- 
self, and moaning. 

“She is going to have one of her spells!” exclaimed 
Elise, anxiously. “We must get the strait-jacket on her 
if we can.” 

“Nonsense!” said Leon again. “Is there any water in 
the room ?” 

“Yes, sir, but she musn’t have it.” 


84 


A GRAPPLE WITH DEA TH, 


“ Where is it?” with an intonation of his voice that there 
was no opposing. 

Elise pointed to a corner of the room. He helped him- 
self to a cup of it — a brimming goblet of it — dashed out- 
side with crystal drops, as he bore it to the panting lips in 
haste. She raised herself, seizing the goblet with both 
frantic hands, and draining it with fiery eagerness ; then 
thrusting it back to him she cried : 

“ More — more l” 

Elise, really pale with fright, stepped before him as he 
was returning for more. 

“It will kill her — it will kill her!” she exclaimed, wring- 
ing her hands, and with tears in her eyes. 

Commisserating her distress, he said : 

“Elise, my father is a physician, as well as Dr. Grade. 
I know perfectly well what I am about. I will answer for 
her life as for my own. ” 

He gently but firmly put her from his path, and she 
watched him convey the second goblet to Miss Gresham, 
with dismayed and staring eyes. This also Margery drained 
with a deep inspiration of relief. She lay quiet for awhile, 
but soon commenced moaning again, putting both hands 
to her head, and murmuring : 

“On fire! on fire?” 

With his eyes on her, Leon had been opening the win- 
dow farthest from the sick-bed. This, with the fire-place, 
created sufficient draft to rapidly purify the air of the room, 
and returning to his patient he brought a basin of water and 
towels, which he wrung alternately and placed upon her 
head, at the same time dispatching Elise for fresh water. 
She refused at first to go, but upon Leon's intimating that 
unless she did so he should go, the fear of being left alone 


A GRAPPLE WITH DEATH. 


85 


with her mistress, who she expected momentarily would be 
seized with a spell, overcame her reluctance. 

Gradually Margery’s moaning ceased, her muscles re- 
laxed somewhat, and she fell away into comparatively easy 
slumber. She continued thus during the remainder of the 
day, sleeping, and delirious by turns, but on the whole 
much less violent and uncontrollable than on any preceding 
day. 

Fortunately there was no one to interfere. Philip was 
sleeping very soundly, the sleep of exhaustion. Elise had 
indeed dispatched a messenger for Dr. Grade, but the man 
did not find him ; and with a heart full of uncomfortable 
trepidation, she was compelled to submit herself to the 
order of Doctor Leonidas for the present. 

As night set in, the sick womans fever rose again, 
and her mind wandered painfully. As he stood faithfully 
cooling her fevered head and face, bathing her hands and 
tossing arms, and at last forcing Elise into the service 
also, Leon felt often constrained to repeat Dr. Grade's 
words, to preserve himself from passing judgment, and 
pronouncing this woman a poor, guilty, conscience-stricken 
creature. It was a sight such as one does not often see. 
Margaret Gresham, with her strong, determined tempera- 
ment, her gleaming eyes and purple, swollen features, 
grappling with disease. Words, fierce and hot as a lava 
torrent, wailed brokenly from her lips. 

Toward midnight the contest within her grew almost 
intolerable to look upon. Though not physically uncon- 
trollable, mentally her excitement was intense. The veins 
stood out upon her hands, her arms, her throat, and her 
brow, like whipchords. Her eyes seemed starting from 
their sockets; her long hair becoming unbound again, 
trailed down over her neck and bosom. 


86 


A GRAPPLE WITH DEATH, 


“ Get me a pair of shears/' said Leon. 

“It's of house/' said Elise ; “she will not suffer you 
to cut her hair. Dr. Gracie tried often, but she begged so 
( hard that he would not, beating him off all the time, 
that he gave it up." 

“It must be done," said Leon, compressing his lips; 
and taking the shears from Elise's hand, he watched his 
opportunity, and skillfully severed the heavy locks from 
the head which their glossy abundance only oppressed. 

“Couldn't you bleed her?" whispered Elise, appalled 
at the sight of that mighty struggle between the forces of 
life and death. 

“No," said Leon, in the same low tone. “She is 
coming to the point where she will need all her blood ; 
she has none to spare." 

As midnight approached, the struggle deepened into 
one of awful solemnity. That hour in which we are told 
the tides of life rise till they wash the great shores of 
eternity, found Margery Gresham clinging one instant with 
stern determination to her constitutional vitality, the next 
dashed from it, as a vessel torn from its moorings by the 
fiercest storm that ever swept the seas, and drifting hope- 
lessly out toward the wide waste of eternity. 

Leon stood, watch in hand, scarcely turning his eyes 
from that ghastly face. She slept, but it was a sleep that 
it chilled the heart to look upon — so strange, white, 
and still. 

Daylight dawned ; Elise went noiselessly from the room 
to warn the household into the utmost silence, and came 
back as noiselessly, to stand watching that pallid face. 
The sun crept up the heavens, and sent curious flashes 
of light into the somber sick-room ; the fire on the hearth 


A GRAPPLE WITH DEATH. 


8 ? 


burned slow and pale, and the face of the sleeper faded 
momentarily. 

Suddenly there was a passing, almost imperceptible ruf- 
fling of the quiet features ; the feeble eyelids lifted them- 
selves slowly. Putting to her lips a few drops of rare cor- 
dial which he had already prepared, Leon watched the re- 
sult. She swallowed it with scarce an effort, her eyes closed 
again, almost before they were open, and again she slept. 

At nightfall she waked, feeble as an infant, but the light 
in her sad eyes was the light of reason. Her sad eyes — 
Leon read the question and wonderment that formed al- 
most instantly there, and he said, in a voice tender as a 
woman’s : 

“Cousin Margery, you have said nothing to betray your 
secret. I only know you have one, and that knowledge 
is as safe with me as in your own breast. The doctor be- 
ing obliged to leave, placed you in my care. You must 
not speak one word, not one — take this.” 

He gave her more cordial, and by her quiet, regular 
breathing, he soon perceived that she slept again. 

And thus it happened that Margery Gresham lived ; and 
when Doctor Gracie called on the following morning, in 
some trepidation, because he had been unavoidably hin- 
dered from doing so before, his patient, propped up a little 
with pillows, was taking her breakfast of broth from Leon’s 
own hand, too weak and feeble to lift her own or turn her 
head, submissive as a child. 


83 


WARNED. 


CHAPTER X. 

WARNED. 

As Miss Gresham grew better, those who chose were suf- 
ered to come and see her. It was a slow and tedious com- 
ing back to health, and Margery Gresham ill was a very 
different person from Margery Gresham well. Nora and 
Frank kissed their aunt heartily. Vashti came once to see 
her, shy and very distant, but somehow enjoyed the call 
so much that she came again very soon, and brought Miss 
Dale with her. Miss Dale, as was her custom, quite mo- 
nopolized this call, and Miss Gresham, from some feeling 
of courtesy, probably, did not for once exercise her pecu- 
liar faculty of taking her down from her height, much to 
Noras disgust, who was also present. It was noticeable 
that Vashti came no more, save under Miss Dale’s wing, 
and finally ceased coming altogether. 

Mrs. Everleigh had by this time sufficiently recovered to 
walk slowly about, and came often, looking white and 
fragile as a spirit, to see her sister. The tears lay near the 
surface in those days, and the two rarely met without a sus- 
picious moisture in the eyes of each. 

Leon staid much with his cousin, sometimes reading 
to her, talking when she was able, and wondering at the 
serene happiness she displayed, when he had every reason 
to think she was a miserable woman at heart. 

One evening he came into her room. She was sitting 
up — indeed, had sat up all day. She looked thoughtful, 
and seemed indisposed for talk ; so, after venturing a re- 
mark or two, Leon began a sparkling little chat with Nora 
upon the fire-lit hearth. Miss Gresham watched the two. 


WARNED. 


89 




They were talking in a light strain at first, but soon the 
conversation took a deeper tone. Nora, with her hand on 
Leon's knee, her arch face uplifted, and her wide-open, 
brown eyes drinking in and reflecting every expression of 
her friend's. He was telling her how he came to be a 
soldier. 

During the war, under the impulse of a hasty zeal, 
he had run away from home and enlisted, though only 
seventeen at the time. Sorry enough he had been after 
the first — the more when he found that both his parents 
were seriously displeased at his taking such a course. 

“It was a very foolish proceeding/' he said to Nora; 
“foolish for a great many reasons ; but it helped me in 
conquering a fault I have — that of judging and acting too 
harshly. Mother would have had me claimed from service, 
being under age, but father objected, though at the same 
time he left it at my option. He preferred that, having 
acted so hastily, I should suffer the penalty of so doing ; 
and secretly I could see that he would be rather ashamed 
of me if I turned back from the soldier's life I had 
chosen. " 

“Was it such a hard life?" said Nora. 

“Yes, it was a hard life. A boy of seventeen has not 
the maturity necessary for a campaign, either morally or 
physically. I have seen and heard a great many things I 
had far rather never have seen or heard. I am a man be- 
fore my time, Nora ; three years, in which I might have . 
gladdened my mother's heart, and cultivated tne holiest 
affections of my own, have gone to eternity, and I, a sad- 
der, a wiser man, perhaps, but not, no, not a happier 
one. " 

He sat in grave thought, and Nora made him no reply. 

“I gained in some things," he continued, musingly. 


9 ° 


WARNED. 


“I got experience, but experience is a bitter teacher. I 
learned something of men, of human nature. I found 
you, Nora. ” He looked upon her blushing face, smiling, 
with his hand upon her head. f£ I am glad that I found 
you, Nora,” 

‘ ‘ Are you, sir ! Why ?” 

‘‘You’re not a vain little girl, so I may tell you. Don’t 
you know — if you don’t now, you will as you grow older — 
that now and then we meet with people who impress us 
very unpleasantly from the first — people, in short, that 
without really knowing why, we dislike very much ?” 

She gave him a look of intelligence. 

“And, again, we meet with somebody who, in spite of 
a thousand little naughtinesses, suits us exquisitely ; whose 
eye answers our eye ; who smiles in sympathy with our 
smile ; who, in short, we like very much. That is why I 
am glad I found you. ” 

She looked at him, her bright eyes brimming with tears, 
and pretty color in her cheeks, smiling her pleasure. 

“ Do I suit you, sir ?” 

He looked at her with beaming eyes. 

“Wonderfully. I should like to have you my mother’s 
girl, to have you with me always. ” 

Her arm was flung across his knee as she sat on a low 
stool before the fire ; she laid her cheek upon it, and was 
silent ; but Miss Gresham, from where she sat, could see 
the tears creeping slowly down her rosy cheeks. 

Leon turned soon to a conversation with his cousin, but, 
contrary to her wont of late, she gave him only short 
replies, and her eye dwelt often on the face of the child. 

“Come, Nora,” she said, almost sharply, “it is time 
you were in bed. ” 

Nora got up, and was leaving the room without a word, 


WARNED. 


9 1 


when Leon held out his hand to say “ good-night. ” She 
laid her hand in his, looking away, however ; but he put 
up his other hand lightly, and turned her face toward him. 
He started a little at sight of her tears, and gave her a look 
half-arch, half-curious, said ‘ f good-night/' and let her go. 
Turning lightly to his cousin, he said : 

“I suppose that is a hint for me to go, too? I am 
keeping you up late for an invalid ; it is time you were 
asleep, Margery.” 

She made an impatient movement, saying : 

“ I shall not sleep for hours. What I have seen this 
evening disturbs me too much. Leonidas, what notions 
have you been putting into that child's head ?” 

He looked surprised, yet amused. 

“ Notions? I hope she may keep them there.” 

“ There is too much reason for fearing that she will.” 

“ Fearing? I do not understand you.” 

“I mean that it is a very foolish thing to play upon 
the feelings of a child in that manner. ” 

“It was not play, Margery; I meant every word I said. 
I like little Nora wonderfully. ” 

“Little Nora! In a few short years she will be a 
woman. ” 

“A woman; yes, thank Heaven— my little pearl, the 
apple of my eye, Nora,” he said, fervently. 

“Leonidas!” she exclaimed, half rising. “What is 
this — what do you mean ? Why should you be glad to 
have Nora arrive at womanhood ? She is much more 
charming as a child. I wish she could always be a child. ” 

“So do not I. I will have her a woman — keeping her 
child heart, but a woman, in stature, culture, and intel- 
lect ; and then ” 


93 


WARNED. 


He smiled joyously, as though his thought was a 
precious one. 

4 ‘ And then, Leonidas — what then ?” 

“Then, cousin, I will marry her, if she will have 
me ” 

“Ridiculous! You will do no such thing. You will 
never wait for a child like that/’ 

“Margery, I will/' 

“You shall not. I tell you, Leonidas, I will not 
have it.” 

He smiled again, doubtingly. ” 

“I have seen it all along,” she continued. “I sus- 
pected that thought was in your heart, and if it was any- 
body else but you two, I should think I had not the least 
cause to fear ; but you, I know you ” 

“But why should you fear this, Margery?” 

‘ 4 Because it is what I kept you from Everleigh for. I 
had a presentiment that mischief would come of it, if you 
came here. If I had been well, I should have sent these 
children off for a visit before you came. But I had no 
thought that you would take up such an idea concerning 
Nora. Vashti begins to look womanly. I should have 
guarded her from you, but I never thought of Nora. ” 

“Cousin, I wish you would explain yourself, in just 
as few words as possible, as you once told me,” he said, 
his color rising a little. 

“Leonidas, I had rather see you in your grave than mar- 
ried to an Everleigh,” she added, as an incredulous ex- 
pression crossed his face. 

“Cousin Margery, I think you are about to have a re- 
lapse. You had better retire immediately. Good-night.” 

He left her chafing at the thought implied in his last 
words, namely, that she was talking wildly, and did not 


WARNED. 


93 


know what she was saying ; and the first time he came to 
her, the next day, she resumed the conversation at the very 
point he had dropped it, trying in vain to make herself 
calm as she did so. 

‘ ‘ I know what I am talking about, if my voice does trem- 
ble/’ she said. “Hear my reason once, Leonidas, and 
then I will drop the subject, for the present, at least. These 
Everleighs inherit dispositions that it is wicked to per- 
petuate. For many generations they have all come to some 
fearful end, through the indulgence of this disposition. 
Those whom they have injured most, forgive them the 
most readily, only to be maltreated again, and worse than 
before. To my certain knowledge, no Everleigh has ever 
lived beyond a certain age, save to an inheritance of idiocy 
or madness. I know it to be so, and I tell you this in 
time. There is no need now for any heart-breaking. 
Your interest in Lenore Everleigh is a mere fancy now. 
Her attachment to you is evidently already very deep, but 
it is not the love of a woman. Go away from Everleigh, 
Leonidas, and never put your foot inside its miserable 
walls again.” 

She ceased speaking, sinking back in her chair utterly 
exhausted with the violence of her emotion, and the haste 
with which she had spoken. 

Leon had listened with a face on which a variety of emo- 
tions were pictured as she proceeded. He made no effort 
now to answer her, but sitting long, with only silence be- 
tween himself and Margery, rose at last and left the room. 
Through the hall, and down the stairs, and out into the 
leafless groves, his arms crossed upon his breast, his hat 
forced low down over his brows, he was in so deep thought 
that he did not notice a little form that followed him, 
dodging behind the tress, stealing close, with a foot-fall 


94 


WARNED . 


like a fairy's, and dropping now and then upon the leaves 
to cry. 

‘ 4 If he does leave — if he does, after all,” she whispered 
to herself, pathetically, “I shall never be good any more — 
never ! If I could only — only see his face ” — taking a deep 
breath. “I see it now ; but how sorry he looks,” and in 
a fresh burst of tears she cowered down close to a tree, 
burying her face in her apron, and bringing her bonnet 
down close, lest her sobs should reach his ear. 

Turning suddenly in his path, Leon came right upon 
her before he saw her. He stopped motionless before her, 
wondering what ailed her. 

“Lenore!” 

She started, but did not lift her head, sobbing more 
violently than before. 

Sitting upon the dry leaves by her side, he lifted her head 
with gentle force, and removed her hands from her face. 
What a tear-stained face it was; how woe-begone. His 
features contracted painfully. 

“What is it, Lenore, my dear child — what has grieved 
you so terribly ?” 

She could not speak for crying. He waited patiently 
and long, till she ceased her sobbing from very weakness, 
and said, in broken tones, which made his heart ache : 

“I heard all Aunt Margery said to you this morning — 
every word. I didn't mean to. I was passing by the door ; 
it stood ajar ; and when I heard the first, I was so fright- 
ened I could not run away, and — and it made me feel so 
bad. I never thought that I was listening till I heard you 
coming to the door. Then I crept away as fast as I could. 
Is it true, Leon — is it ? Can it be true what she said about 
me and all of us ? I don't believe it. I won’t believe it. 
I had rather die than believe it. I wish I was dead now — 


WARNED. 


95 


stamped down under the ground where I couldn't torment 
anybody any more. I wish " 

“Lenore !” in a voice of grave reproof. 

“ It is no use for me to try and be good — didn't she say 
it wasn't ? And isn’t she sending you off because of it, as 
though I was a mad dog and might bite you ? Oh, Leon, 
that is worst of all. You said you would be my brother, 
and here you are going where I shall never see you again. " 

“Lenore, listen to me — be still and listen to me, I 
am not going, do you hear that ? Not now, I mean, not 
an instant sooner for what Margery told me ; and when I 
do go, it will not be forever, by any means. I shall come 
often to see you ; I shall write to you. Does that comfort 
you any ? What ! crying again ? What a tender heart 
it is." 

His own eyes were full of tears, and his fine lips trem- 
bled. 

“Nora," he resumed, “my poor child, I had far rather 
you had never heard what your Aunt Margery said, but as 
you have heard it, show me that you, at least, have no part 
in this inheritance by controlling yourself now — let me see 
if you can do it. I want to talk with you. Let me see if 
you can control yourself. " 

He waited for her. She had stopped crying, and was 
trying hard to still the little tremulous mouth. 

As she grew calmer, he continued : 

“Nora, my dear little sister, let me tell you. It is my 
solemn conviction that, though the main portion of what 
Margery said of former members of your family may be 
true, it rests entirely with yourself whether it ever need be 
true of you. Let me tell you what you can do. You can 
make of yourself such a sweet and pure-souled woman, such 
a tender, shining example of gentleness, moderation, long 


9 6 


WARNED . 


suffering, forgiveness, that — Lenore, do you hear ? — you 
may saw Frank and Vashti from that terrible fate that has 
overtaken so many of your race.” 

They walked slowly toward the house, a glow on the 
cheek of each. 

“I was so frightened when I saw your face, sir, I followed 
you and watched you, and you looked just as though you 
were thinking about leaving me. What were you thinking 
about, sir — wasn’t it that,?” 

“No, I was thinking how I could best save you from 
these dangers that surround you. Now I see you are going 
to save yourself. ” 

The tears flashed into Nora’s eyes at his kind words, and 
she lifted the hand that held hers up to her grateful lips. 
Raising her eyes, she saw the anxious countenance of Mar- 
gery Gresham at one of the upper windows. She dropped 
his hand, crying : 

“Oh, there is Aunt Margery.” 

“What of that?” he said, laughing. “Aunt Margery 
isn’t an ogre, is she ?” 

“She will be displeased to see us such good friends.” 

“Will she? Foolish child. I shall talk with her about 
it. ” 

“She will interfere and put a stop to it, sir. Aunt Mar- 
gery interferes with everything she doesn’t like.” 

“She may interfere as much as she likes ; it will make no 
difference ; you and I will like each other just as well as if 
she was pleased. ” 

He left her in the hall and went directly up to see Mar- 
gery Gresham. She w r as walking feebly about the room, 
her thin face sharpened with an expression of keen displea- 
sure. She lifted both her hands as he came in, saying : 

“You were always willful — you’re willful now. Don’t tell 


THE PARTING . 


97 


me about it — I don’t want to hear. Go your own gait, but 
I warn you I will thwart you yet, if there's wit in woman to 
do it.” 

“But, Margery ” 

“Off with you,” she said, sharply. “I am too ill to tell 
you all I think of this ridiculous matter. I will talk of it 
no more. I have no more pleasure in you, so leave me to 
my own thoughts. Go, court your baby wife. ” 

“As you please, madam.” 

He left her, more in sorrow than in anger. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE PARTING. 

Miss Gresham's recovery kept pace with her desires. She 
left the room the day after her interview with Leon, told in 
the last chapter. With her old energy she went immediatly 
about reinstating matters as they had been previous to her 
illness. School hours were resumed, tasks were lengthened, 
Miss Dale or herself sitting constantly in the school-room, 
and keeping the children busier than ever before. Lenore 
she scarcely suffered from her sight, and if ever the child, 
weary of this restraint and watching, stole to Leon's side, 
she joined them instantly, interposing her presence between 
them, and preventing any privacy. 

Leon did not seem in the least annoyed, and in the light 
of his cheerful presence Nora basked and found rest and re- 
lief. Leon now and then gave Miss Gresham one of his 
keen, quiet glances, as much as to say : 

“You see, my dear cousin, you do not thwart us in the 


9 8 


THE PARTING, 


least. We have all we ask for Your presence only gives 
zest and piquancy to the entertainment. ” 

Miss Gresham, since that unfortunate day when she had 
expressed her mind to no purpose, had quite given Leon 
the cold shoulder. There were leveral reasons for this. 

* * * * * * 

<f I am going in the morning, Lenore.” 

It was evening ; she was sitting in her favorite place* 
upon a cushioned stool on the fire-bright hearth, one 
round, white arm across his knee, chatting or thinking, or 
reading a little from a book on her lap. 

Margery Gresham sat on the opposite side of the hearth, 
Vashti, Frank, and Miss Dale were near, Mrs. Everleigh 
sat by Margery. At the moment Leon spoke, a lively 
discussion was going on between Miss Dale and Frank, 
with now and then a word from Vashti and Mrs. Ever- 
leigh. No one could have heard what he said save she to 
whom he spoke, Lenore. 

She did not start, as he had expected ; but putting his 
hand on hers, he could feel the leap of the thrilled life- 
blood through her veins. 

‘‘Brave, Nora,” he said, in the same low tone, beyond 
the reach of even Margery’s acutely sensitive ear. “I shall 
walk to Hart Corners from here ; my valise has already 
gone. I want to see you for half an hour under that old 
elm back of the Hermitage. Wrap up close, and be there 
at eight o’clock. ” 

“Yes, sir,” faintly. 

“ And keep a good heart, my sister Nora.” 

The little hand pressed his convulsively, and she kept 
back a sob, though her heart seemed bursting. 

It was strange what a hold he had of the child’s affec- 
tions, and not so strange either. No one had ever touched 


THE PARTING. 


99 


the key-note of her tender heart before. To no one else 
was she what he had said she was to him ; and buoyant 
of spirit as she naturally was, with her rare, delicate 
organization and precocious mind, she had needed such 
an honest friend as he to direct her developing powers in 
the proper channel. 

The next morning Leon parted from them all, save 
Nora, nonchalantly enough. Miss Gresham's sharp eyes 
were wide open, but she got no satisfaction ; Leon did not 
even look significant, and she was really glad when he had 
gone. She watched him from the door till a turn in the 
road hid him from sight, and concluded she was well rid 
of him. Meanwhile, he had no sooner got out of sight 
of the house, than, taking one of the woodland paths, he 
made a complete turn round the house, up through the 
orchard to the elm back of the Hermitage. 

Nora was there, looking pale, but struggling to be calm, 
because she knew it would please him. She held out 
both hands to him, looking at him, but not speaking. 
He took them in his. 

“ My little Nora, you won't forget me, I know. You 
must write to me, just as you would talk if I were here." 

“Yes, sir; but when are you coming to Everleigh 
again ?" 

“I don’t know; perhaps not for a year. Margery 
Gresham does not like to have me. " 

“ But you said she should not interfere, sir." 

“Neither shall she ; but you know I should not want to 
go into another person's house against her will. " 

“It is not her house." 

“She rules it at present; to a certain extent it is hers; 
and, Nora, she is going to be one of your stumbling-blocks. 
She means well, and she has resolved to devote herself to 


ICO 


THE PARTING , . 


the family — to your family. You must bear with her, as a 
part of the discipline she imposes to perfect you, prepare 
you for the work. ” 

“ Yes, sir, I will try ; but I think it is very hard that you 
should have to stay away because she says so. ” 

“I shall write you so often you will hardly miss me.” 

“ What if she should refuse to let me have the letters? 
It would break my heart if she did." 

“She will scarcely do that. If anything of the kind 
should happen you must let me know, and I will ar- 
range it. ” 

‘ ‘ And will it be a whole year before you come again, 
sir?" 

“It is likely. You will be so changed then I shall 
hardly know you. " 

“ I hope not, sir." 

4 ‘ Nora, how much do you like me?" 

“ How much, sir— how much ? Oh, how can you ask?' 

“Because I wanted to say something to you, and I won- 
dered if Td best say it to you now." 

“If it is anything you want me to do for you, sir, I 
promise you beforehand that I will do it." 

“Nora, you are my little sister now; you shall be my 
sister a few years, and then — and then, Nora, I shall ask 
you to be my wife. " 

Countenance and color changed mystically. He could 
not read her expression for once. 

“ Have I displeased you ?" he said. 

“Oh, no, sir ; but I was wondering whether it would be 
as nice to be your wife as your sister. " 

“It would suit me much better," he said, laughing. 

‘ ‘ Very well, sir. " 

He laughed again at her artless reply. 


IOI 




- ' - iMM ' ■ ■ ■ - - 


MISS DALE. 

“Then I may consider it a bargain, may I?” 

“Yes, sir,” she said, gravely. 

“Well, then, my little child-wife, good-by — keep a brave 
heart. ” 

He took her pale face between his hands, kissed her cheek 
tenderly, said “Good-by” again, and was gone. 


GHAPTER XII. 

MISS DALE. 

“Mamma,” said Vashti, coming suddenly into her 
mothers room the next day, “mamma, are you not mis- 
tress of your own house, I should like to know ?” 

“You know I am not able to be, Vashti. I leave every- 
thing to your aunt. ” 

“Not everything ; you still have the right to order things 
differently, if you choose,” replied Vashti, flinging herself 
into a seat with a gloomy face. 

“No, my dear; literally I may have, but it would be 
ungenerous to exercise it in any other than an extreme 
case. ” 

“Well, it is outrageous — I think it is. So, there,” said 
Vashti, rising and taking up one of those angry walks to and 
fro which Mrs. Everleigh knew betokened a storm. Her 
fair face grew a shade paler. She dreaded inexpressibly 
one ofVashti’s outbreaks, and she said, gently: 

“What is the matter, my child — what has happened?” 

“Oh, it is nothing new, I am out of sorts to-day ; every- 
thing vexes me, but I do think Aunt Margery behaves 
dreadfully. I wish I was a man, and Ed show her.” 

“What has she done?” said Mrs. Everleigh, drearily. 


102 


MISS DALE. 


“She treats Miss Dale shockingly. I don't see why Miss 
Dale can't hear our lessons as well as Aunt Margery. It 
is what she was hired for, and I should not blame her for 
quitting any day, if she is so used. Just now Aunt Mar- 
gery called her a fool. Who is Aunt Margery that she 
should call the true friend of the family Miss Dale has 
proved herself, by a name like that?" 

Nora entered the room at that moment, and she said : 

“Miss Dale has been no better friend than Aunt Mar- 
gery, Vashti." 

“That is your opinion, not mine, not mine." 

“What advantage is it to her to do all she does for us?' 

“ Selfish people have selfish reasons ; how should I know 
what hers are ?" 

Nora's color rose at this aggravating reply ; a sharp an- 
swer was on her lips, but she checked herself in time, and 
her face burned deeper with a flush of shame than it had 
with anger just before. 

‘ 4 Can I forget so soon ?" she said to herself, reproach- 
fully. 

“Did you hear your aunt say that?" asked Mrs. Ever- 
leigh ; “it doesn't sound exactly like Margery. " 

“I did not hear it, but Miss Dale did. I had far rather 
she had said it to me ; Miss Dale is the most forgiving crea- 
ture in the world. She told me of this, with tears in her 
eyes, at the same time begging me to say nothing about it ; 
but I shall. Mamma, will you reprove Aunt Margery, or 
shall I?" 

“Reprove Margery, my child! what are you talking 
about?" exclaimed Mrs. Everleigh, with an accent of pain. 

“It is plain enough what I am talking about; will you 
give Margery Gresham a lesson in politeness, or shall I ?" 


MISS DALE. 


103 


“I shall not, certainly I shall not,” Mrs. Everleigh said, 
with some spirit. 

' * ‘Then I shall !” 

She was turning to leave the room, when Mrs. Everleigh 
cried : 

“Vashti, you will drive me crazy — what are you goingto 
do ? Come back here directly. There is truth enough in 
what they say of this Everleigh blood. Vashti, come 
back!” 

“ Do come back, sister, do,” pleaded Nora, “you will 
make mamma ill ; how can you vex her so?” 

Vashti stopped irresolutely, and Nora, passing her, fled 
swiftly to Miss Dale's apartment. 

“Miss Dale,” she cried, bursting in upon that lady, “did 
Aunt Margery call you a fool ?” 

“Why, no — not exactly,” answered she, with a guilty 
blush, thinking she might have got herself into trouble. ” 

“Well, you had better see to Vashti, then, or there's 
trouble ahead. She says you said so, and she is bound for 
a fuss with Aunt Margery about it ; be quick, if you would 
hinder her ?” 

Muttering something about Vashti having misunderstood 
her, Miss Dale hurried away, intercepted and captured 
Vashti, and bringing her to her room, turned the key in the 
door, while Nora, delighted with her success, returned to 
Mrs. Everleigh, laughing, and announcing, much to mam- 
ma's satisfaction, that Vashti was safe. 

“There is some mystery about it, mamma. Miss Dale 
has not told all the truth, I am satisfied. She was fright- 
ened, I can tell you, when I told her what Vashti was going 
to do. She muttered something about Vashti having mis- 
understood her, and went after her as quick as she could. ” 

Mrs. Everleigh was grateful at having the storm averted ; 


104 


MISS DALE. 


but Miss Dale was a sort of favorite with her, and she did 
not like to hear anything against her. She told Nora so, 
and Nora declared she would not say anything to grieve her 
for the world. * 

“But, mamma/' she continued, “don’t you know one 
can't help disliking some folks? I have tried my best to 
like Miss Dale, just to please you ; but I can't like her to 
save my life. However, we won't quarrel about her. 
Mamma, do you miss Leon any? You used to like him." 

“Yes, dear, I miss him very much. I liked him very 
much, and was pleased to find that my little girl had ob- 
tained the friendship and notice of so true a gentleman. 
He spoke of you very kindly, dear, and asked me if he 
might write to you." 

“Oh, mamma! and what did you say?" 

“I told him yes; certainly I did. It will be a great 
benefit to you, I hope. He is very kind to take such an 
interest in you as he does. " 

Nora's face had a soft flush of pleasure at these kind 
words said of her friend ; her heart was sore yet from the 
parting, and, with a few tears dropping on her mother's 
face, she said : 

“Mamma, I am so glad." 

“Why, dear?" 

“To think you like him, too. I thought nobody in this 
house liked him as I do. Aunt Margery told me to-day 
she was glad he was gone, and it made me feel so bad. 
Mamma, you don't know how much good he did me ; what 
beautiful thoughts he put in my heart. I am going to try 
so hard to be good — to grow good ; mamma, do you think 
I can ?" 

“My darling, certainly you can, if you try." 

Meanwhile, closeted with Vashti, Miss Dale was cajoling 




Pf. £.* '-s.. •' ■ y. 


DISCUSSION ON BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 105 

that young lady to the best of her ability. Vashti had 
taken it into her head to become Miss Dale’s champion — 
defender of her rights, &c. — -and she was exceedingly loth 
to give up this chivalrous notion. Miss Dale had to shed 
several crocodile tears, and a few genuine ones, represent- 
ing in moving terms that it would be the means of getting 
her turned away from her place, and all that, before Vashti 
would consent that her dearest friend should continue to 
suffer from the unrebuked rudeness of Miss Gresham. 
The truth of the matter was, that Miss Dale had told an 
unmitigated falsehood. She was a sort of sneaking fire- 
brand at Everleigh, creating family jars whenever there was 
the least opportunity for doing so. She it was who put 
into Vashti’s head a notion that Nora was mammas 
favorite, that Margery Gresham was a shameful tyrant, that 
nobody liked Vashti but she, &c., &c., ad infinitum. 

Jhe girl, in fact, was completely under her thumb. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

DISCUSSION ON BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

Miss Gresham was too much occupied watching other 
folks, to observe Miss Dale very particularly. S>he disliked 
her instinctively, and realizing that her educational system 
was very defective, she took that branch in her own hands, 
but with all her foresightedness, the governess had quite 
out-generaled her. Cunning, selfish, deep, and treacherous, 
she had succeeded in impressing Miss Gresham with the 
idea that she was shallow, ignorant, and transparent — a 
creature to be countenanced but not feared. If Miss Dale 


io6 DISCUSSION ON BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 


was obtrusive, as she was apt to be, Miss Gresham leveled 
a stony glance at her that Miss Dale writhed under secretly, 
but submitted to in silence. 

Miss Dale was very anxious to bring about a different 
state of things. It was her ambition to obtain over Mrs. 
Everleigh the control she held over Vashti. Her influence 
over the latter had as yet brought forth very insufficient 
fruits, and she was really weary of her, her fondness, and 
the school-room where she was compelled to be entirely 
submissive to Miss Margery's dictatorial sway. Immediately 
upon this idea entering her head, she sat about maturing 
a plan for the furtherance of her object. She carefully in- 
stilled into the mind of Vashti, and of Nora also as far as 
she could, a desire to leave Everleigh for the purpose of at- 
tending school. She knew from various remarks she had 
heard from time to time, that such a plan would meet with 
the most violent opposition from Miss Gresham, but she 
trusted to keep herself out of sight, and to succeed for all 
that, and thus much accomplished, to see herself duly in- 
stalled as maid, or more properly, as companion to Mrs. 
Everleigh. 

Vashti swallowed the bait easily enough, but Nora was 
slower to be affected, by reason of her own disaffection to- 
ward Miss Dale. She succeeded, however, at last, in excit- 
ing in the hearts of both girls an eager desire to attend a 
boarding-school. This done, she very carefully withdrew 
from the discussion. 

Vashti opened the campaign by broaching the subject to 
Mrs. Everleigh, who, greatly to the delight of both girls, 
signified her approval, subject to Aunt Margery's, but agree- 
ing to broach the matter to her sister at the earliest oppor- 
tunity. 


DISCUSSION ON BOARDING-SCHOOLS . 107 


Miss Margery, as might have been expected, put her veto 
on the whole proceeding. 

‘ ‘ It was unsuitable every way, ” she said. 4 ‘ Girls learned 
nothing but mischief at boarding schools. They were much 
better off at home, especially these girls. ” 

“And why these girls /’ Vashti condescended to ask, in 
high dudgeon. 

“Because you are not fit to mingle with the outside world. 
You are of an entirely different metal. You are a race of 
yourselves, and are safer kept by yourselves. ” 

Poor Nora had no need to ask why ; she understood too 
well what Margery meant ; but Vashti said : 

“Aunt Margery, how strangely you talk ! Do you sup- 
pose that, for no better reason than that, we are going to 
consent to be mewed up here forever? Do you suppose 
we can content ourselves, we Everleighs, with the plain 
education we are getting at present ? I cannot, for one ; 
and I should like to know, since you are to talk and act 
for yourself and mamma, too — I should like to know why 
we cannot have accomplishments as well as other folks ?” 

“What do you mean by accomplishments ? You can 
have the necessary teachers here — no need to go from 
home for that. ” 

“Why not go from home? Are we never to see any- 
thing but Everleigh all our lives? Why not go from 
home ?” 

“For a reason that I gave you once, Vashti; you are 
too much like gunpowder — too explosive to be handled by 
strange hands.” 

A fire blazed up in Vashti’s eyes at this allusion. Her 
lips parted to speak, but turning to her mother angrily, she 
said : 


to8 DISCUSSION ON BOARDING-SCHOOLS \ 


‘ 1 What is the use of all this? Are we to stay at Ever^ 
leigh forever ?” 

“Vashti, Vashti !” said poor, timid, irresolute Mrs. 
Everleigh ; “I — I am sure your aunt will do what is right 
— certainly she will.” 

“That is not the point. Are we Miss Margery Gresh- 
am's children, or are we yours ?” 

“I — I wish you wouldn't talk so,” said Mrs. Everleigh. 
“I wish you would wait till to-morrow, dear; don’t talk 
any more about it now, please.” 

“Mamma, this matter must be settled to-day — now. If 
we waited for fifty to-morrows, we should be no better off. 
Mamma, are we to go or stay?” 

“My child, I told you I was willing if your aunt was.” 

“What is it to her ?” 

Mrs. Everleigh looked distressed, and Miss Gresham, 
taking a step toward her sister, put one hand heavily on 
her shoulder, saying : 

“Eva, be still;” and, lifting the other toward Vashti, 
she said : “You scout my authority, but you cannot leave 
home without my consent. Your mother has clothed me 
with authority over you, and she has a perfect right to do 
so. I shall be true to that authority, but I shall not refuse 
my consent to your carrying out the scheme you have taken 
into your willful head. If you will go, you will. I shall 
not put an obstacle in your way beyond my earnest disap- 
proval ; but I will tell you, child, every hour of the day 
after you leave Everleigh, you will wish you had staid at 
home. I know your morbid, unhappy temperament. I 
know what you, with your fierce, ungoverned temper, will 
suffer among strangers, and those strangers the heartless set 
schoolgirls are. They will never bear with you. You will 
have to be careful how you carry yourself there. People 


DISCUSSION ON BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 109 


do as they are done by in this world you are so anxious to 
see; and, Vashti Everleigh, so sure as there is a sun in the 
heavens, you are going straight to destruction, more swiftly 
than even most of your race, if you do not soon begin to 
curb this frightful temper of yours. ” 

Vashti had a purple cheek but folding her arms, she 
only walked back and forth across the room, while Margery, 
turning to Nora, said : 

“I suppose your head is set on boarding-school, too?” 

“I wanted to go,” said Nora, timidly. 

“I expected as much,” said Margery, coldly, as she left 
the room with a step even more emphatic than her words 
had been. 

“Well, then, I suppose we may consider that matter 
settled,” said Vashti, with some bitterness, but more triumph 
in her tone. “You and I will get to see something else 
besides Everleigh, Nora.” 

“Iam sorry you have vexed your aunt so, Vashti,” said 
Mrs. Everleigh, sadly; “I would rather have you stay at 
home than to have angered her.” 

4 4 Angered her, ” replied Vashti, contemptuously. 4 * There 
it is again. I can tell you, mamma, 4 People who live in 
glass houses shouldn't throw stones.' It is 4 diamond cut 
diamond,' when Aunt Margery talks to me about temper; 
she always leaves me ten times more angry than she finds 
me. It is one reason why I want to get away from Ever- 
leigh. I shall leave her behind, thank goodness ; and I 
am glad, for your sake, that you like her better than I do/' 

Mrs. Everleigh was silent, and still very sad. 

4 4 Mamma, it is very foolish to be vexed because Aunt 
Margery and I don't get on well together. I wish you 
wouldn't,” said Vashti, a little sore about her conscience, 
at sight of her mother's pale and sorrowful face. 


1 10 DISCUSSION ON BOARDING-SCHOOLS \ 


“If you would only try a little harder to please your 
aunt, dear." 

The girl bit her lip. She considered Aunt Margery very 
hard to please > but she said, with an attempt at good 
humor : 

“Well, well, when I come back from Laurel Hill, we 
will see about that. ” 

“Vashti r couldn't you give it up? We will have any 
teacher you want here. ” 

* ‘ Give it up, now ! after such a battle for the privilege of 
going ? No, indeed, mamma, I can't do that. I intend to 
set right about my arrangements forgoing. Come, Nora." 

“Mamma, sister," said Nora, coming cut of a corner 
where she had sat silent for the most part during this lengthy 
discussion, “I think I won't go." 

“Won't go where?" exclaimed Vashti, turning back, as 
she was leaving the room. 

“I think I won't go to Laurel Hill." 

“Not go to Laurel Hill!" cried Vashti again. “Why, 
what do you mean ? I thought you were as anxious to go 
as I. " 

“I should like to go, but I think Aunt Margery knows 
best ; and so I am going to give it up. " 

4 ‘ Oh, that is it, is it, Prudence ?" said her sister, angrily. 
“ I might have known you would show no more spirit than 
that. Well, you can do as you please; I am going." 

Vashti went out of the room, slamming the door after 
her, and Nora, laying her head on Mrs. Everleigh's shoul- 
der, said : 

“I am sorry Vashti is angry ; and I did want to go very 
much ; but, after all you and Aunt Margery said, I thought 
it would not be right ; and you know I am trying to be 
good now." 


DISCUSSION ON BOARDING-SCHOOLS, hi 


Mrs. Everleigh kissed the little face on her shoulder, 
passing her hand caressingly over the soft curls, saying, in a 
low voice : 

“ I am very much pleased with my little daughter.” 
There was an interval of silence, and then she added : 
“ Couldn’t you go and tell your aunt you have given up 
going ?” 

‘ ‘ I — I don't think I could, mamma. Aunt Margery is 
so angry ; she will be sure to make me some short answer, 
that will make me sorry I went near her.” 

“I don't think she would, now ; she would be too well 
pleased to know you were not going. She always had a 
great prejudice against boarding-schools ; and I don't 
know but she is right. I wish you would go and tell 
your aunt. I hate to have her so displeased ; and she 
blames me, I know, for not making you both stay at 
home. But how can I ? I should have such a fuss with 
Vashti as would make me ill again. Do go and tell her, 
Nora " 

“ I don't like to at all, mamma, but I will.” 

Miss Gresham was superintending the maids, who were 
cleaning the hall. As Nora went slowly toward her, she 
called out to her to go back and keep out of the slop. 
The child retreated, but stood near the doorway, waiting 
for an opportunity to speak to her aunt. Presently she 
came across to where she was and stood without seeing 
her, watching the maids. 

“ Aunt Margery,'' said a little timid voice. 

Miss Gresham started. 

‘ ‘ Oh, it is you, is it ?” she said. * ‘ Where did you drop 
from ? What do you want ?” 

“I have concluded I won't go to Laurel Hill, Aunt 
Margery, seeing you and mamma think, I had better not/ 1 


LAUREL HILL— TROUBLE. 


112 

Miss Gresham bent her stately form to look at the 
child. Nora’s brown eyes filled with tears at this keen 
scrutiny. 

* 4 Your sister has not given up going ?” said Miss 
Gresham, without removing her eyes from Nora’s face. 

“No, ma’am.” 

Miss Gresham stood erect again, coolly directing the 
movements of the maids ; but as Nora turned to go away, 
she put her hand on her head, saying, gravely, and with 
an unwonted look in her gray eyes : 

4 ‘ I think there may be hopes of you yet, Lenore 
Everleigh. ” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

LAUREL HILL TROUBLE. 

It was now the last of November. The fall term was 
near its close, but Vashti would not hear of waiting till 
the winter term opened — which would be on the second 
day of January. Miss Gresham suffered her to have her 
own way, and on the first day of December, the family 
carriage, an old-fashioned, ponderous vehicle, was brought 
to the door under the auspices of Pete. Miss Gresham 
herself accompanied Vashti — an arrangement not at all to 
the satisfaction of her willful niece, but which she submitted 
to because she could not help herself. 

Laurel Hill Seminary was a well-known and popular 
boarding-school for misses, in those days when good 
schools were not so common as now. It stood on a 
broad, high eminence back a little from the Hudson River, 
in the midst of fine, ornamental grounds, and, altogether, 
making quite an imposing appearance, The buildings 


LAUREL HILL— TROUBLE, 


”3 


were large and commodious, fronting on and inclosing 
three sides of a square court. 

The Everleigh coach wound slowly up a handsome car- 
riage road to the seminary. They had been two days and 
a night on the way, and the travelers, weary and* hungry, 
were glad to arrive at their destination. 

They were ushered immediately into a sitting-room, com- 
mon as it seemed to the pupils, for groups of girls were 
standing or sitting about chatting in a subdued manner, for 
schoolgirls, owing probably to the presence of a teacher, 
who now and then touched a small bell at her elbow when 
the buzz of voices rose above a certain limit. She herself 
seemed to be reading, and did not notice the advent of the 
travelers. 

The various chatty groups subsided into a lower hum as 
Miss Gresham, after a rapid glance about the room with her 
usual straightforward manner, proceeded to the fire, un- 
asked, since no one invited her, and took possession of a 
chair for herself and one for Vashti, who, her cheeks burn- 
ing with confused blushes, could not do otherwise than 
follow her aunt. 

Schoolgirls as a mass are sometimes very rude. No one 
jogged the teacher, who sat some distance from the fire, and 
was still unconscious of the arrival of strangers. Some 
stood in rather uncomfortable proximity to the new-comers, 
whispering, making remarks that did not entirely fall short 
of ears for which they were not intended. 

Vashti felt her ears tingle under her hood at an allusion 
to Mother Bunch and Noah's Ark, which evidently was in- 
tended to apply either to herself or her aunt. 

Miss Gresham heard the remarks also, and gave Vashti 
a keen, sarcastically-triumphant glance, and she said, in a 
low tone : 


LAUREL HILL— TROUBLE. 


114 

“ You will doubtless be greatly improved in manners by 
your sojourn here. I’ve a mind to stop myself.” 

Vashti made no reply, and presently the teacher already 
alluded to came forward with an apology for not having 
seen them before, and a rebuke to the chattering girls that 
sent them to a respectful distance. Without relieving them 
from their traveling wrapping, she led the way out of the 
room and across the hall to a smaller sitting-room, well 
lighted and warmed, in which, having assisted to remove 
cloaks and hoods, she left them, while she went to sum- 
mon Mrs. Gordon, the mistress of the establishment. 

Mrs. Gordon soon made her appearance — a woman of 
the “fat, fair, and forty” stamp — rather graceful and affa- 
ble in general deportment, with a touch of stateliness about 
her. 

She received her new pupil with a grave courtesy that 
somewhat soothed Vashti’s ruffled spirits, had a most re- 
freshing repast prepared for them in time, entertained them 
till bed-time very agreeably, and finally put them in a com- 
fortable sleeping-room. 

Miss Gresham was off the next morning bright and 
early, and Vashti was left to her fate. 

She had risen at four on a cold, wintry morning to see 
her aunt off. At seven they had breakfast — the pupils — 
and Vashti joined them. She had not partaken of break- 
fast with her aunt, and brought to the table a fine appetite, 
which, however, almost wholly vanished as she stood at the 
long table, feeling herself the cynosure of many eyes — 
strange, uncomfortable, schoolgirl eyes. 

She had by this time become disagreeably conscious that 
she was not dressed as others were. Living the secluded 
life they did at Everleigh, but little attention had been paid 
to outward adornments QX the fashions pf the outside 


LAUREL HILL-TROUBLE. 


ii5 

world ; and Vashti was still wearing the half-short dresses 
and large, brown Holland aprons peculiar to little girls. 
Her wardrobe was always kept well supplied with clothes, 
such as they were, and, in her eagerness to get off to 
school, she did not wait for any replenishing of the same. 
This oversight was Miss Dale s fault, whose business it was 
to see that Nora and Vashti were properly dressed ; but 
Miss Dale had a way of attending to her business with the 
least trouble possible. Mrs. Everleigh, weak, ill, and 
nervous, scarce had noticed that her eldest born, her 
Vashti, was just on the verge of womanhood. 

Thus it happened that Vashti stood at the long break- 
fast-table that morning, tall almost as a woman, dressed 
most unbecomingly in the garments of a child, with her 
hair put plainly back from her olive-tinted face, trembling 
and awkward, because frightened and embarrassed, and 
sinking into her seat when the blessing had been pro- 
nounced with a certain feeling of relief at concealing so 
much of her objectionable garments. Her appetite was 
quite gone; she could eat little, though the table was 
plentifully supplied with good, wholesome, and tempting 
edibles. The other girls were immediately absorbed in the 
business of eating, though now and then one glanced ex- 
pressively at the “new scholar’s brown holland.” 

Mrs. Gordons establishment allowed the pupils to dress 
as they pleased. They were mostly children of wealthy 
parents, many of them considering themselves young ladies 
already, and dressing accordingly. The light discipline 
imposed at Laurel Hill afforded them ample opportunity of 
“shopping” at the neighboring county town, and often 
some of them were even invited there to parties, which they 
were suffered to attend — always, however, under the wing 


LAUREL HILL— TROUBLE, 


i 1 6 

of a skillful chaperon — either Mrs. Gordon herself, of 
Some one selected of approved by hen 

The consequence of this was that the fair young habitues 
of Laurel Hill were rather “dressy.” Amid all this blos- 
soming array Vashti, with her homely, unbecoming garb, 
looked as though she might have strayed from some orphan 
asylum or charity-school, that uniformed its protegees after a 
style, to say the least, intensely p£buliar. She sat all dur- 
ing breakfast, scarce lifting her inky lashes, rose when the 
rest did, and went to her room, thinking Aunt Margery 
was not so greatly mistaken about boarding-schools after 
all. When the bell rang at eight o’clock for prayers in the 
lecture-room, she would have staid in her room had she 
dared. 

Most of her new schoolmates smiled when the “new 
scholar” came in a little after the rest, more awkward and 
embarrassed than ever; and when, in her fright at her novel 
situation, she sat down in the first seat she came to, that 
happening to be Professor Thorpes chair, a very insufficiently 
suppressed titter went round. 

Professor Thorpe himself was at the other side of the 
room, lowering a window which had been raised to cool the 
too highly heated room. He turned at the sound of that 
low laugh, and seeing the drooping, blushing figure in his 
chair, glanced with sharp displeasure at his rude pupils, and 
crossing the floor stood by Vashti’s side, saying : 

“My child, are you the new pupil?” 

He had a very pleasant voice, and Vashti, won by its 
kindness, lifted her downcast eyes timidly, saying : 

“I came last night, sir.” 

“Your name is Everleigh, I believe?” 

“Yes, sir, Vashti Everleigh,” she answered, in an almost 
indistinct voice. 


LAUREL HILL— TROUBLE. 


117 

“ Vashti ? ah !” with a curious, somewhat surprised glance 
at her. * ‘ Queen Vashti, let me show you a pleasanter seat ; 
you are shivering, I see.” 

He took her hand and led her down the long aisle bord- 
ered with curious, still smiling girls. As she passed one, a 
coarse-featured, sallow-complexioned girl, she put out her 
foot with apparent inadvertence. Vashti stumbled over it, 
and would have fallen, but for her conductor's hand, at full 
length upon the floor. Another titter, even louder than 
before, went round, and the sallow-complexioned girl 
laughed louder than any. 

As Vashti staggered to her feet again, a flush of indig- 
nant feeling swept over her face. She lifted her jetty eye- 
lashes, sparks kindling in her great dusky eyes, as she looked 
the girl who had laughed the loudest full in the face. She 
drew herself a little more erect, swept a scornful glance 
down the giggling line, and said, in distinct tones : 

“You are as ignorant and uncivil as Hottentots!” 

It needed not the severe reprimand of Professor Thorpe 
to dye the cheeks of the whole abashed crowd with shamed 
crimson ; and Vashti followed her conductor now with so 
spirited and graceful a carriage of her slender person, that 
he repeated to himself, as he returned to his own seat : 

“Queen Vashti !” 

Presently Mrs. Gordon herself came in, and a whole bevy 
of teachers. A chapter from the Bible followed, a short 
lecture, a fervent prayer, all the pupils rising during the 
last. 

As the pupils passed from the room, Mrs. Gordon stopped 
an instant by Professor Thorpe's chair, spoke a few words 
with him, and then putting her hand on Vashti's arm, as 
she passed her, said : 

“Professor Thorpe would like to talk with you a little/ 


LAUREL HILL— TROUBLE. 


118 

Vashti started and changed color, thinking she was about 
to be reproved for that indignant expression of hers a 
little before ; but as she stood near him, wishing the earth 
would swallow her, his pleasant voice again reassured her. 

“I want to talk with you about what branches of study 
you will pursue.” 

Her face lighted up, and as he proceeded to make a gen- 
tle but thorough examination into the nature and extent of 
her requirements, Vashti forgot all about the brown Hol- 
land apron. Here she had no cause for embarrassment. 
Thanks to Miss Gresham, what she knew she knew well. 
Miss Gresham never did her work by halves, and Professor 
Thorpe found her wonderfully well versed for a girl of four- 
teen, in all the branches that constitute a good English 
education. 

He apportioned to Vashti her lessons, provided her with 
the necessary books, and dismissed her with the sunshine 
of her own rare, beautiful smile gladdening her face. 

That first day passed, the rest of it, more pleasantly. 
Mrs. Gordon, informed of the annoyance to which she had 
been subjected, had provided against any immediate recur- 
rence of the same. She was elated by her interview with 
Professor Thorpe — pleased with her books; more elated 
still, when at recitations, she found that she was placed in 
classes with girls much older than herself — and then did 
herself such credit as to attract marked notice. Only once 
again that day was she wounded. She was returning to her 
room after evening prayers, when among the crowd of girls 
some one said in a loud whisper : 

‘ ‘ Long-sleeved, high-necked. It looks as though it was 
made for a Hottentot ” 

Some of the girls laughed, a few cried “for shame,” and 
Miss Curtiss, one of the V— s said : 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


!I 9 


“That was you, Elizabeth Brent; I shall report you to 
Mrs. Gordon/' and Vashti, hurrying on to her room, burst 
in, shut the door and bolted it, and tearing off the ob- 
noxious, high-necked, long-sleeved apron, she took up a 
passionate march about her room, her ears tingling, and her 
eyes flashing angrily through tears. 

“ What shall I do ! what shall I do !” she said to herself. 
“I can't wear these things and be laughed at, every hour of 
the day. What right have these ignorant girls to laugh at 
me? It is none of their business. I will dress as I please, 
yes, I will, and I'll wear that ridiculous, despicable, horrid, 
ugly apron till I choose to leave it off — there ! I'm a bet- 
ter scholar than they at any rate. Mr. Thorpe was pleased 
with me, too. I could see that. Professor Thorpe, Mrs. 
Gordon says I must call him. I must be careful and not 
forget. I wouldn't displease him for anything; he is so 
kind to me." 

And thus, in her innocent and consolatory self-felicita- 
tions, she forgot her anger. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A NEW WARDROBE. 

That week passed, and another; and still Vashti, in her 
homely garb, went to and fro, cold, haughty, and silent, 
save when addressed — among, but not one of them. No 
one meddled with her, at least not openly; and though 
with her sensitive spirit, she fancied every laugh or whisper 
concerned her, she never seemed to notice or resent either, 
except in what she considered extreme cases. Then her 


120 


A NEW WARDROBE \ 


rebuke was so keenly and bitterly administered, that the 
offender got out of the way as fast as possible, and was 
more careful in future. 

One hour of each evening the young ladies were suffered 
to spend in the sitting-room, in conversational recreation, 
or even a quiet game or two, and every two weeks Mrs. 
Gordon had what she called a “reception,” when the 
friends of the pupils from the neighboring county town 
were suffered to spend the evening at Laurel Hill. These 
were considered as a kind of gala nights by the young 
ladies, and were looked forward to with much eagerness 
and anticipation. Vashti, however, never joined them, 
either at reception or recreation. 

As the weeks went on, she drew more and more within 
herself — grew more taciturn and haughty, and, it must be 
confessed, more unhappy. 

One evening — it was reception evening — she was sitting 
alone in the dark in one of the music rooms, singing 
softly to herself and playing an almost indistinct accom- 
paniment. The room was warm ; a slumbering fire was 
on the hearth. 

Suddenly a quick step crossed the room, a booted foot 
struck a shower of sparks and a burst of flame from the 
smoldering hearth. Vashti was silent, and slipping from 
the music-stool, was leaving the room, when Professor 
Thorpe said : 

“Vashti !” 

She stopped, saying : 

“Sir?” 

“What are you running away for? Come back.” 

She obeyed him with evident reluctance, standing before 
him, and waiting for hint to speak, with her hands folded 


A NEW WARDROBE . 


I 2 I 




before her, and her eyes downcast like a little nun, her 
whole expression a forlorn one. 

4 ‘Child, what is the matter?” 

4 4 Nothing, ” without lifting her eyes or changing her po- 
sition. 

44 If you were anybody else, I should say you were 
sulky,” he said, bluntly. 4 4 What makes you so different 
from other girls ? Why are you like nobody else ?” 

She flashed a sad yet resentful glance at him from under 
her long lashes. 

4 4 Am I so very different?” 

44 Yes, you are very singular. Don’t you know you are, 
Vashti?” 

44 1 should not want to be like these girls here, sir,” she 
answered, with a backward toss of her graceful head. 

4 4 Why not?” 

44 1 don’t like them.” 

4 4 To be sure ; that is plainly to be seen ; but why don’t 
you like them ?” 

44 They are silly and vain ; they care more for a new dress 
than I do for a whole wardrobe, and their hearts are as hard 
as the nether millstone. ” 

44 Well, well,” he said, in a tone of raillery, 44 1 think you 
must have given this subject some consideration. Vain 
and silly — well, well. ” 

Some inward thought amused him ; he laughed, and 
Vashti said : 

44 Did you want anything more, sir ?” 

4 4 No. What then?” 

44 Good-evening, sir;” and with the words she vanished 
noiselessly from the room. 

The professor laughed again quietly, saying to himself, 
emphatically: & 


122 


A NEW WARDROBE \ 


44 A very singular child, indeed.” 
****** 

A letter for Vashti. There it lay on her stand ; some 
one had put it there during her absence from the room. 
A letter — and from Aunt Margery Gresham ! It was short, 
but like Margery's verbal communications, to the point. It 
ran thus : 

“ Vashti: — It seems that you are the butt of ridicule 
where you are, owing to the style of your dress. You may 
lay the fault of that to your adorable Miss Dale. She min- 
gles with the world, and knows what people wear in it. I 
shall send you money, and you can furnish yourself with a 
suitable wardrobe from the country town — Martineau, I 
believe they call it. All well. Margery Gresham.” 

“That is just like Aunt Margery,” soliloquized Vashti ; 
“never a word about mamma or Nora. I don't suppose 
she ever told them she was writing to me. ” 

A low knock at Vashti's door was followed by the en- 
trance of Mrs. Gordon. She saluted her pupil with a 
graceful kiss, saying : 

4 ‘ Are you glad, my child ?” 

“ For what — this letter ? How did it come ?” 

“ Inclosed in one to me ; and your aunt sent me money 
enough to dress you up beautifully. ” 

“Did you write Aunt Margery about me — did you tell 
her I was the butt of ridicule here ?” cried Vashti, in a 
grieved tone. 

“You must not raise your voice, or speak to me in 
that manner, dear,” said Mrs. Gordon, with a quiet smile. 
“I believe I said something of the kind ; not exactly in 
hose words, however. I said you were not dressed 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


123 


suitably, and were subject to great mortification on that 
account. " 

“Oh! what made you? What made you tell Aunt 
Margery Gresham that ? It is too bad. I don't care if 
these girls do laugh at me ; let them laugh ; I don't care, 
I say. ” 

“Hush! child; be more respectful. You try not to 
care, no doubt, but you cannot help caring. But we will 
have all this different now. To-morrow, you and I will 
go to Martineau. You shall have such a wardrobe, 
Vashti, as will place you entirely on equality with any 
girl here." 

“I am on an equality with them now, as much as I 
should be then. All these fine feathers you tell about 
will still leave me Vashti Everleigh. Mrs. Gordon, I think 
you may send that money back to Aunt Margery ; my 
clothes are good enough. Those who do not like them, 
must look the other way." 

Vashti's tone was respectful, but decided. Mrs. Gordon 
looked confounded. She had not calculated on her pupil 
proving refractory in such a matter as this. She looked a 
little displeased, and very much puzzled. She rose to leave 
the room, saying : 

“ I hope you will change your mind by morning, dear.' 

“ I shall not." 

“You speak too abruptly, child; I do not like it. I 
do not usually attempt to control my pupils in matters of 
dress. I think I shall suffer you to do as you please ; but 
I, for one, shall not like you so well, if you persist in 
what I must consider mere willfulness." 

The next morning, as Vashti was leaving the breakfast- 
table, Mrs. Gordon put her hand on her arm, saying : 

“Shall we go to Martineau to-day?" 


124 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


“I do not care to go,” said Vashti, in a low voice, and 
with her jetty lashes downcast. 

“You are a very foolish girl; I am much displeased 
with you,” said Mrs. Gordon, as her hand dropped from 
Vashti’s arm. 

An hour or two after, Vashti knocked at the door of 
Mrs. Gordon’s private sitting-room. The pleasant voice 
of the lady herself said : 

“Come in.” 

But as Vashti obeyed, she looked up, frowning, and 
then smiling, thinking she had come to tell her she had 
repented her decision not to go to Martineau with her. 

“Are you going to Martineau to-day?” inquired Vashti. 

“Yes, I am going.” 

“Will you be kind enough to get me one of those 
quilted cloaks, with a hood — a blue silk hood ?” 

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Gordon, smiling; “but why 
not go with me, and get something else also ?” 

“I do not want it for myself, ma’am. It is for Violet 
Granger. ” 

Violet Granger was a little orphan girl, who was being 
educated at Mrs. Gordon’s establishment. A sickly, puny 
child, whom her friends seemed to concern themselves 
very little about, for she was often shabbily dressed, and 
spent all her holidays at Mrs. Gordon’s. She was one of 
the few who had never laughed at Vashti. 

“ Why should you get a cloak for Violet Granger?” said 
Mrs. Gordon, in surprise. 

“She wants one very much, and I have nothing better to 
do with the money. Here it is.” 

She laid it on the table by the lady, but she said : 

“Tush ! that is your pocket money. I will get the cloak 
out of what your aunt sent. Won’t I return that money to 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


125 


her, you want to ask? No. I intend to keep it till you 
come to your senses. Don’t you think you had better go 
with me to-day, after all ?” 

Vashti shook her head, and retreated to the door. 

“Well, if you won’t you won’t; but don’t expect me to 
feel pleasantly to you, till you give up to do as I wish you 
to.” 

Vashti bowed, coloring, and left the room. 

From this time, Mrs. Gordon’s manner to her willful 
pupil was quite cool. She had been very kind to her, and 
Vashti felt her displeasure more than she cared to own. 

The Christmas holidays came, and most of the pupils 
passed them at home, (though Vashti did not,) and came 
back loaded with presents and finery. 

One day, as Vashti was returning from recitation, through 
the square court which the Laurel Hill buildings inclosed, 
at an angle of the boarding-house, she came upon a group 
of girls in fierce dispute. Little Violet Granger, (she was 
the youngest of them all,) was sobbing bitterly upon the 
ground, and the remainder of the group seemed divided 
into two parties, one of which was gathered round the little 
girl, and the other and smaller one, round Elizabeth Brent, 
the coarse-featured, sallow-complexioned girl, who had so 
annoyed Vashti. They were all talking loud and eagerly. 

Hearing her own name, Vashti stopped involuntarily. 
Violet caught sight of her, and darting through the crowd, 
threw herself into her outstretched arms. 

“What is the matter, Violet?” she whispered, folding her 
close. “Nobody shall hurt you, or grieve you, if I can 
help it.” 

“It is not me, it is you they are abusing. I had a great 
deal rather they would talk about me ; and when I told 


126 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


them so, Elizabeth Brent called me a little pauper, and 
threatened to strike me.” 

A vivid color flashed into Vashti's pale face as, with 
Violet still clinging to her, she took two or three steps to- 
ward the now silent group. 

Fixing her haughty glance on Elizabeth Brent first, and 
suffering it to travel thence over the others, she said : 

“l do not interfere with you. I never meddle with your 
pastimes, or your gossips. I have never harmed one of 
you. It is senseless and idiotic to abuse me, who have 
given you no cause, but when you, Elizabeth Brent, or 
any one else, is cruel enough to taunt a little child like 
Violet Granger, because she defends her friend, I say there 
is no word strong enough to express the scorn and contempt 
you deserve.” 

Vashtis tone and bearing gave a force to her language, 
before which the group surrounding Elizabeth Brent cow- 
ered, looking helplessly to her for a reply to a rebuke they 
felt was deserved, while the other party of girls, crowding 
round Violets champion, became vociferous in their eager- 
ness to disclaim all part or lot in so reprehensible an affair. 

Violet was a great favorite with them ; they liked Vashti's 
eloquence, and many of them had only wanted a good and 
sufficient opportunity to avow themselves friends. There is 
a dash and fascination about independence, real, or even 
assumed independence, that always captivates our American 
girls. There was, moreover, a suspicion abroad among 
them that Vashti could be wonderfully genial if she chose, 
and there wasn't a girl among them all, unless it was Eliza- 
beth Brent, but that had felt like throwing up their bonnets 
and giving three cheers for Vashti when little golden-haired 
Violet made her appearance with Vashti’s present, a cloak 
and hood, that was the admiration of everybody. All this 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


127 


enthusiasm had been pent up long enough. The popular 
feeling had been gradually working round in Vashti’s favor, 
without her being conscious of it, and now, as she looked 
around upon her excited troop of adherents, she was half 
inclined to think it all a hoax. 

The Brent party was voted down, and, finding itself so 
much in the minority, quitted the field ingloriously. 

As Vashti, surrounded by this strange new homage, 
passed to the house, she met Professor Thorpe. He was 
laughing his quiet, excessively-amused laugh ; he had wit- 
nessed the whole scene evidently, and, as he stepped aside 
for the brown Holland apron to pass, he lifted his cap with 
an expressive and humorous glance, saying : 

"Queen Vashti !” 

Vashti blushed, but could not help laughing. As she 
ran up the steps the laugh was echoed, as well as Professor 
Thorpe’s exclamation, and before she knew it she was chat- 
ting and parrying jokes in the sitting-room — that sitting- 
room which she had never but once before entered 
willingly. 

How she enjoyed yet shrank from Mrs. Gordon’s aston- 
ishment, as she came into the room, to see what all the 
bustle and clatter was about. In her surprise, that lady 
forgot to deliver the reprimand that was on her lips, and, 
instead, stood watching the new expressions that were flit- 
ting over Vashti’s happy face, like sunshine over a somber 
landscape. 

That evening, as Vashti was retiring, Mrs. Gordon came 
to the door. 

4 'Will you let Violet Granger sleep with you?” she said. 
"There is a young lady come, and I have no room in 
readiness for her, unless you take her into yours, and 
Violet begged hard that she might come to you instead.” 


128 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


“I shall be very glad, Mrs. Gordon/' 

Mrs. Gordon went away, and in a few minutes Violet 
came herself, wild with delight. She was a very lovely, 
affectionate child, and Vashti felt, as she took her in her 
arms, that she had found one joy more. 

She began, however, to wish that Mrs. Gordon would 
renew the subject of a new wardrobe. She began to long 
eagerly to put off brown Holland, and dress as the others 
did. But Mrs. Gordon treated her with such marked cool- 
ness of late that she had no courage to approach her 
about it. 

As if to doubly aggravate her, the very next day, Mrs. 
Gordon went to Martineau. This evening was a reception 
evening, and more than ordinary preparations were going 
on for it, owing to the expected presence of some rather 
distinguished visitors. Some of the girls were to play and 
sing, there was to be a little bit of theatrical performance, 
some charades, and calisthenic exercises. Everybody's head 
was full of it. Lessons went off dully, and finally in the 
afternoon were abandoned altogether. Vashti's newly- 
declared friends were unceasing in their entreaties that she 
would consent to attend. 

To tell the truth, she was anxious to do so, but she had 
before this refused to join in any of the arrangements 
being made, and had not now the courage to go in her 
usual dress, or make any effort to obtain materials for a 
different toilet. So she shrank away to her own room as 
evening approached, trying in vain to keep from loving 
little Violet the knowledge of how foolishly anxious she 
was to join the merry crowd in the parlor. 

“If I had not been so willful," she said to herself, as she 
sat alone, trying hard to keep back the tears. 


A NEW WARDROBE \ 


129 


" Confess now, dear, you would like very much to go 
into the parlor to-night. ” 

It was Mrs. Gordon, who had stolen unnoticed into 
the room, and coming up behind Vashti, put her two fair, 
plump hands on her shoulders. 

Vashti blushed and hung her head. 

'/You would like it, I know, but you don't like to own 
it. Vashti, you have very pretty hair — I should like to see 
how it would look dressed differently. Will you let Miss 
Brand arrange your hair, just to gratify me ?” 

"You may come in, Miss Brand." 

Miss Brand came in smiling, a formidable array of brushes 
and combs with her, and, in spite of Vashti's low- voiced 
opposition, proceeded with deft and skillful hands to un- 
braid and brush out her long, black hair, both she and 
Mrs. Gordon exclaiming at its beauty and length. 

"Stand up !" said Mrs. Gordon. 

Vashti obeyed, and the shining waves wrapped her slen- 
der person like a mantle. 

"Now, Miss Brand" — with a significant look — "let us 
see what you can do. ” 

"There is little left for me to do," said Miss Brand, 
gayly, but she parted and brushed, and brushed and 
parted, and braided, till Vashti doubted the assertion some- 
what. 

"Nobody would know her, ” exclaimed Mrs. Gordon, as 
Miss Brand finished disposing the satiny bands about the 
clear, oval face. "Why, Vashti, you have only just missed 
being a beauty. Be quick, Miss Brand. " 

Miss Brand laughed and darted out of the room, while 
Mrs. Gordon, with a mixture Qf abruptness and raillery, 
said : 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


130 

" I want you in the parlor to-night, Vashti, and I intend 
to have you there. ” 

Miss Brand was back in a second or two, with what 
looked like an armful of sunbeams. She flashed it down 
upon the bed, and armed with soap, towels, and water, 
went deftly over Vashti, whirled off the brown Holland 
apron and short dress, substituted the armful of sunbeams, 
and called on Mrs. Gordon to look and admire. 

As for Vashti, she wondered secretly if she was not a 
princess in a fairy tale ; and when Miss Brand proceeded 
to fit an embroidered stocking and a dainty satin slipper to 
her foot, she concluded she must be Cinderella over again. 

4 'There, I think you will do,” said Mrs. Gordon, when 
all was done. "Come, dear.” 

But Vashti hung back. 

"What now?” said Mrs. Gordon, taking her by the 
hand. 

There was a rush of tears and a flush of scarlet, and with 
with quivering lips, Vashti said : 

‘ ‘ T m sorry I was so willful, Mrs. Gordon. I don’t at 
all deserve what you have done for me. ” 

"You didn’t, but you do now,” said Mrs. Gordon, kiss- 
ing her. "There, put by those tears for the present ; and 
if you wish to make amends for displeasing me, as you 
really did, just banish all those little bashful airs you have 
such a penchant for, and whatever you are asked to do this 
evening toward entertaining my guests, do freely and fear- 
lessly. I like to be proud of my pupils, Vashti, and when 
you make me proud of you, you gratify me more than I 
can tell you.” 

"But, you know there are some things I couldn’t do if 
they asked me,” said Vashti, frightened at the mere idea of 
being called upon for she knew not what. 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


l 3 l 

“ Don't undertake anything you can't do, by any means. 
But I know what you can do, quite as well as you do, and 
I shall have my eyes on you. ” 

They entered the parlor. It was yet early — earlier than 
Vashti had supposed. The pupils were all there, and most 
of the teachers, but no guests had yet arrived. Vashti got 
a seat in as retired a corner as possible, and wondered if she 
was really herself, as she stole sly looks at her amber dra- 
peries, and slippered foot. She was not left long in the ob- 
scurity she had chosen, however. The tide of popularity 
that had set in, received additional impetus at sight of her 
gorgeousness. 

Half a dozen girls on either hand, forced her into the 
center of the room, to be admired. As she at last suc- 
ceeded in disengaging herself from them, covered with 
blushes and confusion, she encountered Professor Thorpe, 
ushering in a party of ladies and gentlemen. He bowed 
slightly, with that droll smile of his, and sent her to a seat, 
in a perfect flutter of embarrassment. 

“How he will tease me !” she said to herself with a sigh. 

The party took their seats a little way from her, and when 
she had sufficiently recovered her presence of mind to 
glance that way, Professor Thorpe seemed in close conversa- 
tion with a lady whom Vashti pronounced the most beauti- 
ful she had ever seen. Professor Thorpe himself was tall, 
rather above the medium height, straight for a student, 
with rather plain, but not homely features, what we call a 
square face, straight, dark hair, thrown carelessly back from 
his ample forehead, which projected slightly over a pair of 
deepest azure eyes. 

The lady was sufficiently good-looking, fair-complexioned, 
with curls about her face, a little red in her cheeks and 
lips, a great deal of blue in her eyes, and evidently by the 


1 3 z 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


way she tossed her curls and “made eyes” at the professor, 
considered herself quite a beauty, and him a conquest. 

The company came in rapidly, and the parlor was soon 
quite full. The young ladies were not allowed to mingle 
yet with the company, but were mustered in a large, deep 
recess at one side — all but Vashti. She, not understanding 
the arrangement, kept her quiet seat, secluded, she thought, 
from general observation. 

Presently Mrs. Gordon came sailing through the room, 
benignant, smiling, looking well, in a pale blue silk, which 
became her exceedingly. She passed by the professor, and 
spoke an instant with him in a low tone. He nodded, sent 
a sharp glance toward Vashti s hiding-place, and while Mrs. 
Gordon waited, chattering with one and another, took the 
bewildered girl out of the crowd, and brought her to the 
lady. 

Mrs. Gordon waved her hand for him to lead her on, and 
gracefully excusing herself, followed them. 

“What are you going to do with me?” asked Vashti, 
timidly, of the professor. 

He had quietly taken possession of her, without any ex- 
planation. 

* ‘ Going to cage you as they do birds, and then have you 
sing.” ' 

“I sing! I sing !” she cried, remembering what Mrs. 
Gordon had said, and in so dolorous a tone, that he looked 
curiously at her, saying : 

‘ ‘ Why, I thought you young ladies liked such things. ” 

“What things, Mr. Thorpe — Professor?” she hastily 
corrected herself. “You don’t mean that I am to sing 
before all this crowd ?" 

“Yes, Ido ; so Madame Gordon just told me. You are 
to open this, what do you call it— grand gallopade of the 


A NEW' WARDROBE. 


*33 


Muses — with a song and instrumental accompaniment” 

She was silent, and looking down he saw she was very 
pale. He drew her aside into the hall through a door 
opening from the recess in which the stage was erected. 
Mrs. Gordon was following, but he raised his hand with 
a warning gesture, and a significant look at Vashti. Mrs. 
Gordon, however, pressed on. 

“She will never be able to do it/' she said, in a dis- 
appointed tone. 

“Yes, she will,” said the professor, decidedly. “Delay 
commencing ten minutes, and I will bring her to you. 
She will do it, I insure. ” 

“ My dear child, if you knew how it would gratify me.” 

Vashti did not reply, and the professor, with her hand 
upon his arm, took two or three turns through the hall. 

“I am sorry you promised that, sir,” she said, at last. 
“I am afraid I shall disappoint you. It is quite too much 
to ask of me, who never attended anything of this kind 
before in my life.” 

“So you have found your voice,” he said, gleefully, 
“and only three minutes gone. In seven more you'll 
have a heart as bold as a lion's. ” 

“I don't know about that, sir. My heart is beating 
now like that little caged bird's you were telling me of 
a while ago. ” 

“I dare say, but, you see, this has to be done; so the 
sooner you quiet that fluttering thing the better.” 

They took a few turns more, he railing at her and 
familiarizing her with the subject that had frightened her, 
as we familiarize any scared thing with the shadow that 
has terrified it. Pausing by a lamp, he said, perusing her 
face an instant : 


*34 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


“ There, I should like to see you fail ! Don’t you dare 
do it. Are you ready to go in now ?" 

“ Yes, sir, if I must ; but what am I to sing? Oh, I 
never thought of that. What is it, sir ?" 

“ There, there; keep cool. It is only that little song 
about birds, and blossoms, and waterfalls. A moonish 
serenade, I believe, they call it. You'll find the music on 
the piano. I’ve heard you sing it often. Up with you, 
and if you fail, Yashti Everleigh, I'll cross you out of my 
book." 

He handed her up the steps, led her to the piano, and 
seated her, keeping up a fire of low bantering words all 
the time to divert her attention from embarrassing 
thoughts. He placed the music before her. It was the 
wrong sheet, and she pointed out the mistake to him. 
Placing the right one before her, he said : 

‘ ‘ See how nervous I am lest you should fail. It would 
vex me terribly." 

“ Would it, indeed ?” 

“Yes." 

He stepped to one side a little, and as her hand fell on 
the keys in a musical flutter of notes, the room was hushed 
in an instant to perfect quietness, and up through the 
tender murmuring of the prelude stole a voice, at first faint 
and tremulous, but very sweet, and gathering strength and 
compass as it went. 

Not till she had finished, and the last breath of melody 
had floated away over the room, did she lift her eyes from 
the music. Then looking upon the throng fiom her 
elevated position, she felt faint, and swayed slightly in 
her seat. Professor Thorpe stepped quietly to her side, 
lifted the hand that lay as if paralyzed on the piano keys, 
and placing it on his arm, led her away. 


A NEW WARDROBE, 


135 


ihe recovered her presence of mind instantly, as his hand 
fcwched her, and as soon as they reached the hall, said : 

'‘Did I do well, sir?" 

•‘I believe you did ; I’m not much of a musician myself 
but I believe you did very well. Here is Mrs. Gordon, ask 
her." 

Mrs. Gordon came hurrying out, all smiles and congratu- 
lations. 

Twice again during the evening, Vashti sang and played, 
to the satisfaction of everybody. 

The theatricals, charades, and calisthenic exercises passed 
off well. The company had mostly dispersed. Vashti was 
sitting in an easy-chair before the fire. Professor Thorpe 
came and stood at one side of the hearth, nearly in front 
of her, his hands in his pockets, as he surveyed her quizzi- 
cally. 

“Now, then, it is coming," thought Vashti, and aloud 
she said : “Please, sir, don't laugh at me." 

“Why not?" 

“It is not pleasant to be laughed at." 

“Isn't it? Well, I'm sorry, but I can't help laughing* 
when I think that it is not so very long since you were rail- 
ing in unmeasured terms at people who wore fine clothes ; 
and now you seem to enjoy the peacock's plumes as much 
as anybody. " 

Vashti was silent, and looked annoyed. Presently she 
rose, stood a moment hesitating, the parlor was nearly 
empty, and said, timidly : 

“May I bid you good-evening, sir?" 

“Good-morning, you mean; it is nearer that than the 
other. Yes, off with you; the old professor is nobody 
now. You are too fine for old friends." 

She stood looking away from him, but at these words, 


A NEW WARDROBE. 


136 

spoken in a most doleful tone, she turned again toward 
him. He was standing now, shading his face with his hand, 
so that she could not see its expression. She came a step 
tuward him, looking doubtful. 

“I believe you are laughing at me, sir; but it grieves me 
to hear you talk so, even in fun. ” 

“Why? It is the truth, isn’t it?” 

“No sir, no; I think you are the best friend I have got, 
except mamma and Nora.” 

“You feel cross at me sometimes; I can see it in your 
downcast eye. It shines irefully upon me from between 
your lashes.” 

“You tease me so, sir, and I don’t like to be teased.” 

“Don’t you ? You would rather I flattered you, wouldn’t 
you ?” 

“No, that I would not. I would rather have stripes than 
flattery,” she answered, curving her red lips. 

He laughed his inward, quiet laugh. 

“There, I think you will do to finish up on. Good-by. 
Shake hands, to show that we are friends.” 

He held out his open hand. She laid hers in it, said 
good-night, and went away. 

‘ ‘ Professor Thorpe, what do you mean ?” 

It was Mrs. Gordon. She had come in at a side door, 
unobserved, she thought, and had heard the latter portion 
of this peculiar conversation. 

He did not start at her voice ; he had known she was 
there all the time. 

“What do you think, Mrs. Gordon?” 

‘ ‘ That you are a very singular pair. What a conversation 
to take place between a girl of fourteen and the learned pro- 
fessor. ” 

“Sure enough, she is a singular child, and you have al- 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN 


*37 


ways called me odd. Are you aware, Mrs. Gordon, that 
she has more mind than any dozen girls here ?” 

“She has uncommon talents, certainly. 

“Uncommon intellect, you mean. I never saw just such 
a child in my life. There is a fascination about her that 
even these wild girls acknowledge. She will make a won- 
derful woman, Mrs. Gordon.” 

“A belle, eh?” 

“No, she is too grave for a belle — haughty — proud — I 
don't know what to call it — a strange, sensitive, shy thing. 
Good-night, Mrs. Gordon. ” 

“Good-morning, professor, by the clock,” pointing gayly 
to the time-piece in the hall. 

He nodded, smiling, and was gone. His rooms were in 
an upper story of one of the seminary buildings. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN. 

The day after the reception school-hours were resumed, 
or an attempt made to that effect. There were a great 
many failures at recitations, however, but Vashti was re- 
solved not to fail at this particular time, and did not. 

Elizabeth Brent had been ill at the time of the reception, 
but recovered in a few days after. 

Vashti was almost sorry to see her back among her com- 
panions, and no wonder. The girl had a scowling, discon- 
tented face, which was only the reflex of her envious heart ; 
but Vashti had no malice, and in her present happy frame 
of mind she could afford to be generous ; so she met this 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN 


138 

girl, who had proved herself so unfriendly, with a kindly 
face and courteous expressions. Elizabeth Brent,- however, 
refused her proffered hand, saying, angrily : 

“I have never liked you, and I never will — don't speak 
to me, Miss Everleigh.” 

Vashti’s dark eyes flashed a contemptuous glance at her, 
and with a haughty inclination of her head, she turned 
away. The two passed each other after that with averted 
eyes. 

One evening, about a week after the reception, as Vashti 
sat alone in her room studying, Violet came softly in, and 
sat down without approaching light or fire. Presently her 
friend looked up. 

“ Why don't you come to the fire, Violet?" 

“Pretty soon I will." 

Vashti's quick ear detected something wrong in her tone, 
and she said : 

“Come here and tell me what is the matter, darling — 
something has grieved you. ” 

The child came reluctantly, but threw herself into her 
friend's arms, sobbing violently. 

“It is not true, I know — I know it can’t be." 

“What is not true?" said Vashti, tenderly soothing her. 

“What they say about you. I did not mean to tell you, 
but you would make me when you saw I was crying. I 
don't want to tell you one bit. It is nothing but one of 
Libbie Brent's lies." 

“But you must tell me, Violet. I want to know very 
much. I have noticed for a day or two that there was a 
great deal of whispering and a great many sly looks — tell 
me what it is, Violet. I am not at all afraid of anything 
she can say about me.'" k 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN 


*39 


“She has made the girls believe it, some of them. She 
hates you so bad, Vashti. ” 

“Does she? Well, I don’t like her any too well; but 
what has she been telling now? Out with it.” 

“Did you know where Libbie Brent went at the holi- 
days ?” 

“No; I don’t even know where her friends live, or 
whether she has any, and I care less. ” 

“She knows about yours, though, or pretends she does. 
She visited at a place that she calls Hart Corners at the 
holidays. She says that is only a little way from Ever- 
leigh.” 

“It is six miles from Everleigh.” 

“Well, she says she saw some one there that told her — 
oh, a dreadful tale about — about your father.” 

Vashti started, her face wearing a look of shocked sur- 
prise. Violet put her loving arms about her neck, kissing 
her, and crying : 

“Don’t cry darling. Tell me what she said.” 

Vashti spoke as if her voice was choked with tears. 

“I don’t want to tell you ; it will make you feel so bad. 
It was a dreadful, dreadful story !” 

“Violet, you don’t know how you vex me with this delay ; 
tell me, this instant, what this dreadful story is. I can 
imagine — but tell me ” 

She put the child down from her lap, as she spoke, and 
with her hands on her shoulders, held her with a hard, tight 
grasp, while she answered her with a scared face : 

“She said your father killed a man, and then killed him- 
self, for fear he’d be hung for it.” 

“Vashti’s hands fell away from the child’s shoulders — she 
pushed her almost violently from her, and rising, went 
straight to the door, her face dark with passionate anger. 


140 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN. 


“Oh, don’t, dear, dear Vashti — where are you going?” 

She took the child’s clinging hands from her dress, 
saying : 

‘ * I am going to give that creature a lesson. Let me go, 
Violet,” 

Through the hall, and up the stairs. Elizabeth Brent’s 
room was in the story above hers. In the upper hall she 
encountered Mrs. Gordon. 

“Whither away, Vashti?” she said, lightly ; and then as 
the blaze of her lamp fell on her face, and she saw its strange 
expression, she exclaimed: “What is the matter? How 
you do look ! I never saw you look so 1” 

“I want to see Elizabeth Brent a moment,” said Vashti, 
turning her face from the light. 

“You and Elizabeth are not friends — what should you 
want to see her for? No, Vashti, go back to your room.” 

“Mrs. Gordon, I must see Elizabeth Brent — I must see 
her.” 

“What for?” 

“Because I must.” 

“ You must not in the state you are. I will not have it. 
Go back to your room. ” 

It was on Vashti’s passionate lips to say, “I will not,” 
but there was a cool determination in Mrs. Gordon’s blue 
eyes that checked the foolish words, and she suffered herself 
to be led back to her room. Mrs. Gordon put her in, shut 
the door, and went away. 

Violet sprang to meet her with a cry of joy ; the poor 
child had feared she knew not what, but Vashti put her 
coldly aside, without a word, and took up an excited walk 
about the room. Presently she again approached the door, 
opened it, and went out. She encountered no one in the 
hall this time, and groping her way to Elizabeth Brent’s 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN 


141 

room, threw the door open without so much as a knock. 
There were half a dozen girls within. Mrs. Gordon was 
there, and Elizabeth Brent was talking eagerly. 

Mrs. Gordon turned toward the door as Vashti opened 
it, and approaching her quickly, with a countenance of 
much displeasure, said, as she attempted to lead her out of 
the room : 

“ Foolish girl, you must not come here/' 

“Yes, I must!" she cried, wrenching her hand away. 
“You are in the plot against me, too. I will speak — I 
will ! I will !" 

She fled round the table to where Elizabeth Brent stood, 
with a very pale and somewhat frightened face. 

“Wretch!" she cried, seizing her by the arm, “what 
made you tell tl^it infamous lie ? What makes you follow 
me up so? You're not fit to live !" 

Mrs. Gordon came round and took hold of the excited 
girl. Elizabeth Brent had not spoken a word, but was try- 
ing feebly to extricate herself. 

“Come with me, Vashti, come right away," said Mrs. 
Gordon, in a low, quiet voice. “Vashti," her hand was 
on her shoulder, not heavily; she shook her gently. 
“Come, my child." 

“ Make her take back her wicked falsehood first." 

“You are not to dictate terms to me, child." 

“I don't wish to, Mrs. Gordon," she said, loosing 
Elizabeth Brent's arm, and turning to Mrs. Gordon with 
a pitiful look ; “but this girl follows me up with her bitter 
lies. I cannot endure it. Make her say she has lied/' 

“Vashti, you must come with me." 

“Mrs. Gordon, if you have a spark of pity in youi 
heart, ask that girl if she has not lied." Mrs. Gordon 
looked at Vashti in silence. She stood half drooping be- 


142 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN. 


fore her, a round red spot on either cheek, and her dusky 
eyes burning with frenzied imploring. The half dozen 
girls in the room shrank close to each other, breathless 
with excited expectation, and Elizabeth Brent, as if unable 
to stand, sank into a seat. “ Just ask her, Mrs. Gordon/' 

It is difficult to tell what were Mrs. Gordon's thoughts. 
Possibly she thought the girl was so nearly distracted that 
she had better humor her. At any rate, turning to Eliza- 
beth Brent, she said : 

“You are terribly to blame, Elizabeth, for circulating 
a story of this kind among your schoolmates, whether it 
is true or not. " 

“It is not true," broke in Vashti; “she knows it 
is not." 

“I don't know that it is not true," said Elizabeth, 
sullenly, and beginning to cry. “I'm sure it is no fault 
of mine, if folks do say her father killed a man, and " 

She did not finish the sentence. With a sharp ciy, 
Vashti struck the girl's insulting lips with her open palm. 

Nobody spoke in the room for several seconds. Vashti's 
passion seemed to have all gone out of her with that 
stinging blow ; and when Mrs. Gordon, with a very, very 
grave face, said, “Come away to your room, Vashti," she 
followed her, perfectly subdued and looking half ashamed. 

Subdued and ashamed, she looked so, truly ; but when 
Mrs. Gordon, as she left her at the door, said : 

‘ ‘ I leave you to your own thoughts for the present. In 
the morning I shall expect you to have come to yourself 
sufficiently to ask not only my pardon for your conduct, 
but that of the school whose decorum you have broken in 
upon, as well as that of the girl you struck. " 

Vashti turned in the doorway, a smoldering spark in her 
eye, as she answered : 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN 


14 3 


“Your pardon I ask now. I should have restrained 
myself in your presence. Even as regards the school, 
though it has only outraged me ever since I have been 
here, I will obey you ; but for Elizabeth Brent, shall I 
ask her to pardon me for what I would do every hour in 
the day, under the same circumstances ? Never ! Mrs. 
Gordon, I will not do it. I will go back home first. ” 

“Very well; since that is your decision, you will go 
back home, then. I leave you to think of it till 
morning. ” 

Vashti bowed, and closed the door. 

Poor Violet heard enough of the conversation to under- 
stand that there was danger of her losing the best friend 
she ever had. 

“How I wish I had never told you a word !” she cried, 
sobbing upon the carpet. “I would never, never have 
told you, if I had thought it would come to this.” 

“ Somebody would have told me, Violet. You are not 
the least in fault. Come, dear, it is time you were in 
bed. On the whole, I am not so very sorry. You know 
I have suffered much that is hard to bear since I have 
been here. Certainly Elizabeth Brent and I could not 
possibly continue to meet daily as we have done. Yes, it 
is best that I should go. ” 

Violet suffered her to get her ready for bed, a little duty , 
it pleased Vashti to attend to, every night. 

Vashti brought her book and the lamp to the beside, and 
holding Violet's hand, pretended to be studying, till the 
child, after a long time, cried herself to sleep. Presently 
she rose softly, placed the lamp where its light would not 
fall on the sleeper, and proceeded with guarded movements 
to pack her trunk. Afterward she lay down, but though it 


144 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN 


was late, she found it impossible to sleep ttll nearly day. 
Then she dropped to sleep for an hour or two. 

She was roused by the first breakfast-bell, and waking 
with a start and a sigh, proceeded to dress herself with a 
weary heart, and despondent spirits. Violet was already 
up, and had kindled a bright fire on the hearth. Her little 
face was very sorrowful, and she could hardly look at Vashti’s 
trunk without tears. They burst forth resistlessly when she 
saw her lay out her hood, cloak, furs, and gloves. 

“ You can’t go to-day,” she cried. 

“I don’t know. I shall go as soon as possible.” 

She sat down, with her arms around Violet. 

“I shall miss you, darling,” she said, “quite as much 
as you will miss me; and remember, if you should ever 
want a friend, such a one as myself, for instance, come to 
Everleigh. I’ve a dear mamma there, and a brother and 
sister, all of whom I will divide with you ; and, oh Violet, 
you can come and spend your vacations with me, instead 
of staying here as you generally do. Such fine times as we 
will have !” 

Violet could only kiss her in reply, and very soon they 
went down to breakfast. Afterward Vashti was summoned 
to Mrs. Gordon s sitting-room, where she only repeated 
what she had said the night before, announcing her desire 
and readiness to start for home immediately. 

“You cannot go before to-morrow,” Mrs. Gordon said. 
“You are too late to reach the stage at Martineau to-day, 
as it goes just about this time. Besides, I must write your 
aunt a statement of this unhappy affair.” 

“ I have a mother, Mrs. Gordon. Had you not better 
direct your statement to her?” 

“Your mother is too much of an invalid to attend to 
such matters, your aunt said. I should think you would 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN. 


145 


dislike to displease her, of all others, with so disgraceful a 
recital. " 

“ Disgraceful ' Mrs. Gordon ?" 

‘ ‘ Disgraceful , V ashti. " 

“I was uncourteous to you, Mrs. Gordon, for which I 
made the apology you demanded. It was a fault of the 
moment, but I see nothing disgraceful about that or any- 
thing else that I did last night ” 

“ Perverse child ! You will at least acknowledge that it 
is disgraceful to be sent home, as you are about to be. " 

"‘Not sent home, Mrs. Gordon. I could stay if I chose, 
could I not?” 

“II you accepted the conditions, you could?" 

“Which I do not; I choose to ,go home — I am not 
sent. ” 

“It amounts to the same thing," said Mrs. Gordon, 
looking at the girl curiously, and trying in vain to be 
angry. 

Vashti’s whole attitude, though firm, was not at all 
defiant, but on the contrary, rather subdued and de- 
spondent. 

“I believe you are sorry to go home after all," Mrs. 
Gordon said, with a half smile. 

“Indeed I am, ma’am; I would much rather stay." 

“Why not stay?" 

“I am not sorry I struck Elizabeth Brent, Mrs. Gor- 
don, nor ever shall be. Besides, if she and I both staid, I 
am afraid you would have another ‘ disgraceful affair’ on 
hand before long." 

She spoke with sober earnestness, and Mrs. Gordon, 
checking the smile that rose involuntarily to her lips, said : 

“You are a singular child. I was very angry with you 
last night, but can’t for my life be angry this morning. I 


146 


ELIZABETH BRENT AGAIN 


had much rather you would stay, Vashti. Can’t I con- 
vince you that you were wrong last night ?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Why not? May I try?” 

“I had rather you would not. You could not convince 
me, because I do not want to be convinced. ” 

“A frank avowal, at least; it atones somewhat for your 
perverseness. You have twice vexed me terribly, Vashti, 
since you have been here. You are too stormy a spirit for 
me to control ; but I confess to you, child, that, though I 
do not like your faults, I like you. You have wonderful 
talents, dear, and a wonderful power of fascination when 
you are yourself, and choose to exercise it ; but this way- 
ward, imperious spirit you have got obscures all your per- 
fections. You can never be very happy till you have 
curbed it. You can go nowhere, you can have intercourse 
with no one, but sooner or later it will come between you 
and them, and in the end blast your life. My child, let 
us part friends. I shall always remember you kindly. I 
will inquire to-day for some one who may be going in the 
direction of Everleigh. I must write that letter, too, to 
your aunt. You don’t like that idea, I see; but you must 
realize that, looking upon your fault in the light I do, I 
could not feel I was doing my duty unless I made known 
so glaring an exhibition of it to your friends. ” 

Vashti had stood quite silent during the whole time of 
Mrs. Gordon’s speaking, her face crowded with conflicting 
emotions. From any one else she would have resented 
such a pointed discourse upon her “great fault,” but this 
lady’s tone was so gentle, her affection so genuine, that her 
words moved Vashti as no other appeal had ever done, or 
would again soon. Perhaps, possibly, if she could have 
remained under the superintendence of so sincere a friend, 


HO! FOR EVERLEIGH. 


147 


so honest an adviser, she might have escaped the furnace- 
blasts of tribulation that tried her proud spirit in after 
years, and wrung her rebellious heart to agony. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HOl FOR EVERLEIGH. 

Vashti had said “Good-by” to all the girls, and was 
going off at last, very much regretted. The girls crowded 
round her, each eager to testify her appreciation of her and 
load her with testimonials of kindness. 

Mrs. Gordon was to go with her to Martineau ; the sleigh 
was at the door, but there was one to whom she had not 
yet been able to say good-by. 

Professor Thorpe had not been at the boarding-house all 
day, and with her usual readiness to appropriate disagree- 
able things, Vashti concluded that, having received a re- 
port of her conduct, he meant to show his displeasure by 
absenting himself from all chance of a kind word to her. 

“It is not like him,” she said to herself, discontentedly. 
“He has been very kind to me, kinder than all of them. 
I wish he wouldcome.” 

She stood in the hall near the parlor door, which was 
ajar. Suddenly she heard voices, one them that of Profes- 
sor Thorpe. She heard him say : 

“I have never happened to see any open indications of 
her fiery spirit, save when she was terribly imposed upon, 
and then she answered her tormentors so aptly that I felt 
like giving her three cheers ; but if, as you say, she is given 
to such outbursts of passion as this you tell me o£ it is a ter- 


148 


HO! FOR EVER LEIGH 


rible blot upon her singular perfection of intellect and at- 
traction. If she were a young lady now, and I a marrying 
man, I should be decidedly afraid of her. A vixen, Mrs. 
Gordon, is what I would not like to risk getting in a wife. ” 

The speaker was approaching the door, and Vashti re- 
treated from its vicinity. Indeed she had heard quite 
enough, and in the first emotion of confusion and annoy- 
ance she looked about for any corner to hide herself from 
his eyes. 

At the end of the staircase was a shadowed corner. 
Hardly knowing what she was doing, she slipped into it 
just as Professor Thorpe came through the parlor door. 
His cool eye took a rapid survey of the groups in the hall. 
Whether he missed the dark, piquant face that usually 
brightened with a faint glow at his coming, did not appear. 
He fell into a light and desultory chat with Mrs. Gordon 
for a while, and when she went away to her room for some 
article she had forgotten, he began to pace silently and with 
a slow step through the hall, his heavy brows knitted a little, 
and his eyes thoughtful. 

From her corner Vashti could see him, and fearing every 
instant lest that keen glance should fall upon her, she at- 
tempted, when his face was turned from her, to slip away. 
She had not taken two stealthy steps before he wheeled 
upon her with his quiet laugh. 

‘ ‘ What are you hiding for ?” he said, intercepting her. 
“A pretty escapade this. I had no idea you were of such 
combustible material, Vashti/' 

“Let me go to Mrs. Gordon, please; she is calling me,” 
she answered, reddening, and with her downcast eyes full 
of tears. 

‘ f Mrs. Gordon can wait. It is not likely I shall ever have 

a chance to tease you again/' 


MEANWHILE AT EVERLEIGH. 


149 


“It is too bad of you to talk so,” she cried, with a pas- 
sionate burst of weeping. “I could bear anything better 
than this. I believe you are glad I ar$ going. ” 

He lookad at her with a curious smile, glanced over his 
shoulder, and said : 

“You are mistaken, and you know you are ; you don't 
believe anything of the kind. You know Professor Thorpe 
likes you, after his fashion, pretty well. Will that do? Do 
you forgive me for plaguing you ?” 

She smiled faintly through her tears, saying, in a low 
voice : 

“I don't care for the rest, if you like me ; and I should 
not blame you if you didn't, for I don't think I am very 
likable, sir, only you have been so kind to me, that — I — 
I thought — I hoped you would miss me — a little.” 

“I shall; there, Mrs. Gordon is getting impatient. 
Good-by, Vashti Everleigh.” . 

“Good-by, sir.” 

He led her out, placed her in the sled, assisted Mrs. 
Gordon in, put Violet up for a last kiss, the driver snapped 
his whip, Professor Thorpe raised his hat, the girls waved 
their bonnets and handkerchiefs, bells jingled, etc. 

Ho ! for Everleigh. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

MEANWHILE AT EVERLEIGH. 

Meanwhile at Everleigh, time had not moved by any 
means smoothly. Everybody, to quote Vashti, was “out 
of sorts.” 


150 


MEAJS WHILE A T EVERLEIGH. 


Frank had taken it into his head to follow his oldest sis- 
ter's example, and go away to school. He was tired of 
being schooled by woman, he declared, and as in Vashti's 
case, opposition only strengthened his determination. Off 
he went in midwinter, to the preparatory school at New 
Haven, in spite of Miss Margery Gresham. Always grave, 
she grew somber at these inroads upon her rule. 

Miss Dale, from having failed so signally in her plan of 
becoming prime minister to Mrs. Everleigh, was subject to 
continued and repeated attacks of fidgets, greatly to the 
annoyance of Miss Margery and Nora particularly, for dur- 
ing these seasons she managed to make herself quite dis- 
agreeable to' both. People she did not like, Miss Dale had 
a wonderful faculty of annoying or rather, people who did 
not like her. Often she asked of Miss Gresham the most 
impudent questions, questions that blanched her face with 
a singular emotion, that Miss Dale could not for her life 
put an interpretation on, or give name to, but with so in. 
nocent, and even blundering an air, as to quite banish from 
Miss Gresham's mind all suspicion as to her intentions. 
“Stupid," was the severest expression Miss Gresham ever 
applied to Miss Dale. 

Mrs. Everleigh missed her children ; the poor invalid 
lady was very fond of Frank's bright, dashing face and 
ways ; and her eldest born, her Vashti, with all her 
waywardness, made too much stir amid the monotony 
of her sickly existence not to be sadly missed. Besides, 
her little loving Nora had changed singularly. The sweet, 
winsome face drooped somehow so sadly, and she went 
about with a strange, slow step, very unlike her usual 
bounding elasticity. If not sorrowful, she was at least 
thoughtful to pensiveness. The fact was that the child, in- 
heriting with her brother and sister an exquisitively sensi- 


MEANWHILE AT EVERLEIGH 


*51 

tive and susceptible temperament, could not obey Leon 
and drop out of her mind all that it nearly broke her heart 
to think of. It seemed to her every time her aunt's heavy 
gray eyes fell upon her, that she, too, was constantly think- 
ing of the Everleigh doom. As she went in and out 
through the strange, shadowy corridors she could fancy she 
heard Margery Gresham’s cold, yet tremulous tones repeat- 
ing the words that still haunted her, and, covering her ears 
in a frenzy of terror, she fled away, anywhere — to her 
mother's room sometimes, often to her own, for Miss Dale 
frequented Mrs. Everleigh's room very much, and between 
her and Nora rivers of antipathy flowed fathoms wide. 
Nora could not have given, if she had tried, any very dis- 
tinctive reason why she so disliked this woman, but she 
never approached her save when compelled by necessity. 
School-hours were spent mostly beneath her dictation, and 
were weary hours for this very reason. 

She heard from Leon occasionally — as often, indeed, as 
she could expect. Brave, tender, true-hearted letters he 
wrote, bright and genial as himself; but strange to say, in 
her then depressed state of mind, as she turned from the 
glowing page, the shadows about her steps seemed to be- 
come thicker and darker from very contrast. She tried 
hard, in answering these letters, to write cheerfully; but 
she was of too frank a nature to easily conceal her pain 
from so keen and kindly an eye as Leon's. He felt with a 
throb of sympathy every thread of suffering that filled the 
woof of her young, so early stricken life, and he wrote on 
this subject brief, emphatic sentences that thrilled her to 
tenderly joyous tears while she read. 

“ There will come a time," he wrote — “ there will come 
a time, my little Nora, when you will be so utterly miser- 
able and unhappy, when you feel yourself falling away into 


15 * 


AT HOME. 


such depths of affliction, when the waters of a despair 
peculiarly your own will hem you round so close, that you, 
poor, weary child, will be compelled to follow the cloud by 
day and the pillar of fire by night , as those old Israelites did. 
It will be your only redemption. My child, you can do 
nothing of yourself. When you realize this, and cease to 
struggle against Gods ways, then will come the beginning 
of the end you ought to attain. It is not for you to 
trouble yourself about the future. It is for you to do as 
near right as you knowhow. 'Our Father, Who art in 
Heaven/ will take care of the rest. Meanwhile, work, 
work, work. There is nothing better for the mind than to 
keep the hands busy. ” 

And Nora pondered and mourned, and mourned and 
pondered, and tried to follow the dictation, but not hope- 
fully. Alas ! physically and mentally she had reached a 
state of prostration that would not suffer her to hope, 
but still trying to do her work faithfully, and leave the 
rest in Better Hands. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AT HOME. 

It was the last of February, and Vashti had been from 
home a little over three months. One evening Nora was 
sitting in Mrs. Everleigh’s room, reading to her. They sat 
before the fire, Noras little dimpled hand in her mother's 
thin and slender clasp. Now and then she paused for little 
running comments on what she was reading, to which Mrs. 
Everleigh gave low, smiling replies. 


AT HOME. 


*53 


Presently in came Miss Dale. Nora just glanced at her 
and read on, a little cloud resting on her face. Mrs. Ever- 
leigh motioned Miss Dale to a seat near her. Affecting not 
to see it, Miss Dale moved round to Nora, saying, in her 
smooth tones : 

“My darling Nora, how tired you must be of reading; 
your voice sounds hoarse, positively. Give me the book. 
Your dear mother thinks nobody can read quite as well 
as I. ” 

“Em not tired in the least,” began Nora, in displeasure. 

Mrs. Everleigh interrupted her with : 

“Give Miss Dale the book, dear. I dare say you are not 
tired, but it will be a fine thing for you to hear her, and 
improve yourself by doing so.” 

“Aunt Margery says one always gains more by practice 
than by listening to other people,” said Nora, stoutly, yield- 
ing the book however to Miss Dale. 

Mrs. Everleigh looked a little annoyed and undecided, 
but soon forgot it, listening to Miss Dale's vibrating tones. 

Nora sat a few minutes with her curls drooping over her 
shadowed face, and then stole softly from the room, with a 
caution quite unnecessary, since Mrs. Everleigh was too 
engrossed to have seen her, had she made considerable 
noise. The sitting-room was alight and aglow with warmth. 
Thither she went, and taking her favorite low seat before the 
fire, with her hands falling idly on her lap, watched the red 
glow in the grate, with sadly wistful eyes, pondering — she, 
the little child, not yet numbering a dozen years — pondering 
the terrible problem Margery Gresham had so unwittingly 
flung in her path. 

Born to an inheritance of idiocy or madness ! If she 
did not grasp the appalling idea with the mind of an adult, 
she clothed this, her terror, with a vague, but quite as dread- 


154 


AT HOME, 


fill horror of imagery and surroundings. It frightened her 
sometimes till it seemed to her she must die. Rising with 
a sudden impulse of her inward thought, she took the lamp 
from a side-table, and holding it aloft, so as to throw its 
light as much as possible on the picture over the mantel- 
piece, she looked long and earnestly at that dark, handsome 
face with its heavy-lashed eyes. She often studied this pic- 
ture thus, and she was beginning to understand what was 
the hidden language it spoke — and every time she lifted her 
gaze to that gaze, her heart thrilled with deeper sympathy 
to the nameless, but unutterable pain, that darkened there. 

‘ ‘ Poor papa, ” she murmured to herself, “he knew, of 
course he knew, how .sad it must be to live so long as he 
did, knowing what it must come to at last. I wonder if 
God won't let me die young? It seems to me it would be 
a great deal better so. I wonder if papa was glad to die. 
If he had lived much longer, perhaps ” 

She looked wildly at the picture, shuddering, set the 
lamp down with a trembling hand, and flung herself with a 
dreary moan upon the floor. 

There was a noise in the great hall soon after, subdued 
tones of greeting, the sound of approaching footsteps, none 
of which pierced to her numbed ears with any realizing 
sense, and then the door of the sitting-room fell open, and 
Vashti Everleigh came in, saying, as she crossed the 
threshold, to the servant who accompanied her : 

“ Don’t tell anybody I've come, Elise.” 

Elise bowed and closed the door after her. 

At the first tones of her sister's voice Nora had started 
from the floor, wondering if she were not dreaming. 

Vashti came slowly toward her, loosening and throwing 
back her hood, holding out hand, with a feeble smile that 


AT HOME, 


x 55 


so touched some sympathetic chord in Nora’s heart that she 
burst into tears, crying : 

Vashti ! oh, Vashti ! have you come back to me ?” 

“I have come back, Nora, because I had to come/’ she 
answered, with a tone of haughtiness, but with crowding 
tears flashing upon her cheeks, as she kissed her sister and 
submitted to have her loosen and remove her wrappings. 

When she had laid these by, Nora took her low seat 
again, her hand in Vashti’s, asking eager questions. 

“ I have learned/' said Vashti, with slow emphasis, “the 
lesson Aunt Margery has all our lives been trying to drum 
into our heads, namely, that we Everleighs are like nobody 
else. Don’t you know we have heard sometimes that the 
Everleighs never prospered when they left the old place ? 
I thought I could go away shaking its dust from my feet, 
and have nobody find out but what I was just like other 
folks ; but couldn’t — this Everleigh stamp is as indelible as 
it is misty, to my mind. I didn’t want to come back ; I 
hate the very sight of Everleigh. I hate the place I went 
to quite as much, though, and I am glad you didn’t go. 
Such indignities as I endured, till it seemed as though I 
should go crazy. I came away because I could submit to 
them no longer ; and there, Nora, let us drop the subject. 
Don’t ever ask me a question ; I can’t bear to talk of it — 
I don’t want to hear of it. Where’s Frank — with mamma ?” 

“No; he has gone to preparatory school at New Ha- 
ven.” 

“Frank has?” 

“Yes; Aunt Margery opposed it with all her might, 
but he would go, and at last she gave it up ; but she is 
cross about it yet.” 

“Well, well,” answered Vashti, thoughtfully; and after 
an interval of silence, she said; “Is mamma up yet? 


^6 


AT HOME. 


How is she? Well, I suppose, as usual, for I got a letter 
to that effect just before I started. Is she strong enough to 
see me without any warning^” 

“I don’t know. I had better go in first and tell her. 
You can wait outside the door.” 

Without looking at Miss Dale, Nora entered her moth- 
er s room, and, according to her wont, with her arms 
thrown lightly round her neck, said in her ear : 

“Mamma, I have heard from Vashti.” 

“ Heard from Vashti ? How — have you got a letter?” 

“No; but I have heard. Vashti is coming home, 
mamma?” 

Miss Dale dropped her book in her surprise, and Mrs. 
Everleigh brightened up from her languid, half reclining 
posture, to say : 

“Are you sure, Nora? How do you know?” 

“From her own lips. Vashti is already here, mamma. 
Yes, she is, in the hall there.” 

Vashti, unable to restrain herself longer, came in, half 
dignity, half impulsive joy, at seeing her mother, who had 
a very tender hold of her wayward heart. 

Miss Dale she affected not to see at first, and greeted her 
at last with wonderful coolness. Vashti was very indignant 
at Miss Dale, for two reasons — one was her suffering her to 
go from home with her “outre” wardrobe, and another 
that she had never written her once while away. 

Miss Dale, however, did not seem at all put out by 
Vashti’s cool airs. On the contrary, she was marvelously 
smiling, and rode over all this reserve and distance in a 
manner peculiar to her when it did not suit her to notice 
anything of the kind. 

“ Have you seen your aunt?” asked Mrs. Everleigh. 


AT HOME. 


157 


Vashti made the old, impatient movement at mention 
of her aunt, and said : 

“No, indeed, I have but just come ; and I told Elise, 
who let me in, nor to tell anybody I had come. ” 

“Nora, go right up to your aunt’s room, and tell her 
Vashti is here.” 

Vashti shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing ; and 
Nora, avoiding her aunt as she always did of late, asked : 

“ Hadn’t I better send a servant, mamma ?” 

“No, certainly not ; Margery would not like to hear 
such news from a servant. ” 

“Very well, I will go,” Nora said, leaving the room. 

Margery Gresham, sitting alone in her room, was roused 
from her austere meditations by the entrance of the child, 
breathless, a scared look in her brown eyes. 

“What ails you, child?” she exclaimed, with her usual 
abruptness. 

“I — I thought I heard something,” stammered Nora, 
clinging involuntarily to her aunt. 

“Let go my dress ; positively you are trembling. What 
has happened, I should like to know ?” 

“I heard something; I did, Aunt Margery.” 

“You heard something? Well, what was it? You are 
growing nervous, Nora. ” 

“Oh ! Aunt Margery, go out and see what it was, if 
you don’t believe me. It was on the back stairway, close 
by the door of the Hermitage. ” 

Margery’s face turned ghastly white within the instant. 

“Whatever possessed you to come by the back stair- 
way ?” she cried, as she seized the lamp and hurried from 
the room. 

Led by some irresistible fascination, Nora followed her 
a few steps from the door. 


i 5 8 


AT HOME. 


A little distance off Miss Margery met Philip. 

4 ‘ What madness is this?” she cried, with an appalled 
voice. 

He answered her in a low tone ; she, clutching his arm, 
and both hurrying along the corridor. In another instant 
a sound cleft the darkness, whether of earth or air Nora 
stopped not to think, but darted into her aunts room, 
waiting there with almost intolerable terror till her return. 
She came in soon, looking flurried, but laughing scorn- 
fully, as she said : 

“ What a simpleton you are, Nora ! I didn’t know but 
some terrible creature had got into the house ; but there’s 
nothing there. Don’t come the back stairway again ; it is 
old and rickety, and you might get hurt ” 

“What was that cry I heard, Aunt Margery, after you 
went out? It wasn’t you ?” 

‘ ‘ What ! Oh, yes ; I heard it, too ; perhaps it was the 
wind. Don’t be so ridiculously nervous, Lenore. Ever- 
leigh is not haunted ; there is no such thing. Miss Dale 
has been telling you ghost stories, hasn’t she ?” 

The child shook her head. 

“ Some of the servants, then ?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Well, I am glad of it; don’t listen when they get to 
telling such things. You’ll get so fanciful you’ll see all 
sorts of sights if you do. What did you think you heard 
on the back stairway?” 

‘ ‘ I — I thought I heard something breathe. Perhaps it 
was Bute, Aunt Margery ; perhaps he has come back. I 
think I did hear something. ” 

“Nonsense !” Miss Margery said, with another derisive 
laugh, but with something like a shudder. “It is likely 


AT HOME, 


*59 


you did hear something, but nothing more than the wind 
and the rickety old staircase might be accountable for. ” 

Nora looked somewhat relieved, and, suddenly remem- 
bering her errand, said : 

“Aunt Margery, Vashti has come home; I was coming 
to tell you. ” 

Miss Gresham started. 

“When did she come?” 

“A little while ago,” 

“Where is she?” 

“In mamma's room. Won't you comedown and see 
her?” 

“Not to-night. I fancy she is not particularly anxious 
to see me. What has she come home for ?'' 

Nora colored and was silent. She did not like to repeat 
what her sister had said. 

“Ah, well, it is no matter; I shall find out in time. I 
could guess pretty nearly now. ” 

“I wish, Aunt Margery, you would hold the light for 
me as far as the great hall. I did not bring a lamp, I was 
in such a hurry to tell you. ” 

“What! still afraid? I will go with you all the way,” 
said Miss Margery, with unusual heartiness for her. 

At the door of Mrs. Everleigh's room Miss Margery re- 
pented of her determination not to see Vashti that night, 
and went in. 

Vashti shook hands with her aunt, but did not offer to 
kiss her — an omission that vexed Mrs. Everleigh not a 
little. By way of covering her annoyance, she said, 
smiling feebly : 

“Isn't it a pleasant surprise, Margery?” 

“Very,” said Margery, dryly; and Vashti understood by 


i6o 


AT HOME. 


her tone that she meant it was no surprise at all — no more 
than she had expected. 

“We shall have Frank coming back before long, per- 
haps — who knows?" said Mrs. Everleigh. 

“I think it is likely. Did you leave Mrs. Gordon well, 
Vashti?" 

“I did. I have a letter for you from her in my trunk. 
Will you have it to-night, or wait till morning? I have 
not unpacked yet. ” 

“In the morning will do as well as any time. I pre- 
sume it is newsy, and might keep me awake if I had it to- 
night. ” 

Vashti answered, “Very well," with assumed indiffer- 
ence, and Miss Gresham said good-night very soon, and 
went away. She put her head in at the door again after 
she had shut it, saying, with one of her grim smiles : 

“Take good care of that letter, Vashti. Don't be 
tempted to burn it." 

“I am tempted to burn it," said Vashti, with a stamp of 
her passionate foot. “She knows what is in it well 
enough. I wish to goodness I had never told her any- 
thing about it." 

On the morrow, however, Miss Gresham got her letter, 
and, contrary to Vashti's expectation, did not once allude 
to its contents to her. She had expected some sarcastic 
exulting on her aunt's part at the fulfillment of her proph- 
ecy, but it was quite the reverse. Miss Gresham even 
seemed a little tender toward her, and proposed the same 
day to procure a competent teacher to come into the house 
and attend to both hers and Nora's education. Vashti 
gave only a haughty and cool assent to the proposal. She 
had not yet forgiven that disagreeable prophecy. But 
nothing daunted, Miss Gresham wrote immediately to New 


m 


A TUTOR A T EVERLEIGH. 


1 6 1 

Haven, where she had acquaintances, to inquire for a suit- 
able person — a gentleman, if possible. At the same time 
she ordered a very elegant piano, for those days. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A TUTOR AT EVERLEIGH. 

In process of time came a letter to Miss Margery, saying 
that the very person she wanted stood ready to obey her 
summons — a Mr. Dascomb, a fine musician, he was said 
to be, as well as an accomplished scholar. Miss Gresham 
wrote immediately to offer him the situation, appointing 
an early day for him to enter upon his duties, and an- 
nounced the progress of affairs in due time to the family. 

Miss Dale was in high feather. She had fawned over 
the poor infatuated Vashti, till she had brought matters to 
their old footing between them. And now she succeeded 
in installing herself in that long-coveted place, as Mrs. 
Everleigh’s companion — this last greatly to Elise’s dis- 
satisfaction, who loved her mistress, and considered herself 
peculiarly her attendant. 

Finally came Mr. Dascomb, a young man, to Miss 
Margery’s dismay. She had pictured to herself a man after 
the style of a tutor she had once had — plain, awkward, and 
rather old. However, she recollected in time that all 
tutors could not be made from the same model, and for- 
gave the man for being good-looking and young. 

Mr. Dascomb had a rather striking appearance generally. 
He was graceful and insinuating in his manners, a little 
pretentious, and a little foppish. He had raven-black 


162 


A TUTOR AT EVERLEIGH. 


hair and whiskers, a rather low, square forehead, heavy 
black eyebrows and lashes, and blue eyes. 

Miss Gresham met him with considerable empressement, 
and herself made him acquainted with the various mem- 
bers of the family — with Mrs. Everleigh first, and then 
Nora and Vashti were sent for. Vashti chose to be on her 
dignity with Mr. Dascomb, whom *she was determined to 
consider only as a pet of Aunt Margery’s, and her recep- 
tion of him was so very distant that a frown rose to Miss 
Gresham's face. The gentleman himself suffered his blue 
eyes to rest an instant longer on her countenance than was 
necessary. It was all the sign he gave of having noticed 
what amounted almost to rudeness on Vashti’s part. 

Nora was more affable, endeavoring by her cordiality to 
atone in some degree for her sister’s marked coolness. 
Miss Dale came in presently, and she started as- her eyes 
fell on the tutor, smothering some exclamation, as his cool, 
unmoved glance met her. 

“ Miss Dale, Mr. Dascomb/' said Mrs. Everleigh s gentle 
voice. 

He bowed, saying, with rather marked emphasis : 

“I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss — Miss 
Hale, I believe you said, madam ?" 

“Dale, sir," corrected Mrs. Everleigh. 

“Ah, yes, Miss Dale." 

He bowed again, never suffering his eyes to stray from 
that lady, who still stood in the open door, changing from 
red to white, and white to red, in a most unaccountable 
manner. 

“Come in and shut the door, if you please, Miss Dale," 
said Margery Gresham, dryly. “It is not like you to be 
so bashful. What ails you?" 

Miss Dale came into the room, pale and discomposed. 


A TUTOR AT EVERLEIGH. 


163 




“ Suffer me, madam/' said Mr. Dascomb, with ob- 
sequious politeness, offering his hand, and leading Miss 
Dale to a seat. He gave her a fiery glance as he loosed 
her hand, whispering, as he bowed very low to her, ‘ ‘ Don't 
be a fool, Hetty Dale. " 

“Miss Dale must be ill," he added in an audible voice, 
turning from her to Miss Gresham. 

Miss Dale sat a moment, looking like one stunned, and 
then rising, went hastily from the room without a word, 
while Mr. Dascomb, pulling fiercely at his black whiskers, 
looked round the room at its amazed inmates. 

“Very singular, indeed," said Miss Margery Gresham, 
with her sharp eyes on Mr. Dascomb. “I never suspected 
Miss Dale of any tendency to hysterics. Perhaps you and 
Miss Dale have met before, sir?" 

‘ ‘ Never to my knowledge, " he answered. 

He looked about him for a seat, took one near Mrs. 
Everleigh, with whom he skillfully opened and kept up a 
conversation. He had, evidently, from the tone of his re- 
marks, traveled much, and had visited places that Mrs. 
Everleigh had not seen since her honeymoon, when, in 
company with her husband, she had made a wedding-trip 
to Europe. He knew, by reputation, many of her old ac- 
quaintances, and brought her news of them, to her great 
delight. 

As Mr. Dascomb passed from Mrs. Everleigh’s room, 
after taking his leave, he stumbled right upon Miss Dale. 
She was standing there alone in the dim passage, waiting 
for him ; and seizing hold of him as he came near, she 
cried : 

“ Is it you, Percy — is it — can it be?" 

“ Hush, hush ; don't talk so loud." 


164 


A TUTOR AT E VERLEIGH. 


“Come into my room, then, and tell me what all this 
means. ” 

“Into your room — where are your wits, Hetty? A 
pretty mess it would be to have that old Gorgon catch me 
there. ” 

“Come into the sitting-room, then — there is certainly no 
harm in that/' 

He followed her, looking anything but pleased, and said, 
as he glanced round the room : 

“Be quick, now, with whatever you’ve got to say, and, 
if anybody comes, I would thank you to slip out of the 
other door before they get in. ” 

“What do you mean talking this way, Percy Dascomb ?” 
she asked, with bitter anger. “What is all this privacy for? 
What am I, and what are you, that there is need for such a 
juggling performance as this ? Did you pretend you were 
dead to get rid of me ? Do you think you can stave me off 
now? You didn’t expect to find me here I’ll be bound; 
you wouldn’t have come, if you had. What do you mean, 
Percy Dascomb — tell me, will you?” 

“Softly, Het, don’t talk so loud. It was no fault of 
mine that you heard I was dead. I have been traveling 
in Europe, living on my wits, and educating myself for a 
tutor in a gentleman’s family.” 

He laughed scornfully as he said the last words, and she 
said in bitter incredulity : 

“You a tutor !” 

“Ay, Mistress Het — a tutor for the nonce. I’ve quali- 
fied myself; and hark you, ma’am, it is my pleasure that 
you and I conduct ourselves to each other as though we had 
never met before. Smooth over that performance of yours 
a while ago — pretend that you were ill, or anything you 


A TUTOR AT EVERLEIGH. 165 

like, but don't dare to bring my name in. You came near 
losing me my place with your confounded nonsense. " 

* ‘ Ah, Percy ! How could I help it ? The wonder is that 
I did not do worse — to see you standing there alive, when I 
had thought, for so long, that you were dead. " 

‘‘Well, well, I don’t blame you; but don't let's have 
anything more of that kind. There, somebody is coming. 
Go — go !" 

He opened an opposite door for her himself. She stood 
within it, holding it so that he could not shut it. 

“You haven't said a kind word to me, Percy?" she said, 
reproachfully. 

“Bother! Will you go?" 

“Not while you talk so to me," she answered, sullenly. 
“I am not your dog, Percy. You will find you can't con- 
trol me by fear." 

“Well, then, will this do?" 

He threw one arm over her neck, kissed her on each 
cheek, saying : 

“Ive a plan to make you and me rich, Hetty ; trust me 
and obey me, If you won't do it for fear, do it for love — 
there." 

She suffered him to put her through the door, and close 
it, but she did not look pleased or satisfied. 

No one came to the sitting-room for a long time ; Mr. 
Percy Dascomb had it all to himself, and he sat before the 
fire, basking his handsome self in the cheerful glow, com- 
placently smoothing his ruffled whiskers, and possibly ma- 
turing his plans. 

The piano came in the course of the next day. Mrs. 
Everleigh, leaning on Miss Dale, and with Nora on the 
other side, came out from her room like a pleased child, to 


i66 


RECONCILED. 


see it unpacked. Vashti stood proudly aloof, pretending 
indifference, and would not go near it. 

However, when it was set up, and Mr. Dascomb ran his 
effeminate-looking fingers over it, she could not resist the 
alluring tones, and with her usual impulsiveness, went 
directly into the room and up to the side of the piano. 
The musician’s heavy eyebrows arched themselves expres- 
sively at this demonstration, and as he played, passing 
lightly from one theme to another in rapid succession, he 
watched her furtively. 

She was fairly conquered of her ill-humor before he was 
nearly through playing, and she thanked him with a glow^ 
ing face when he had finished, as though he had done her 
a personal favor. 

“1 want to hear you play, Vashti,” said Mrs. Everleigh. 

She sat down without an instant’t hesitation, but so em- 
barrassed and constrained at first that she could not play at 
all. She succeeded, however, in redeeming herself soon. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

RECONCILED. 

Contrary to Miss Gresham’s avowed expectations, Francis 
Roscoe Everleigh continued at New Haven, writing once 
in a while, but never offering to come home, even for a 
visit, till the midsummer vacation. She heard of him 
and his “ goings on” through a friend, who was kind 
enough to undertake to keep her posted regarding the boy. 
“ A fine smart fellow,” this friend called him, “ rather too 


RECONCILED. 167 

fond of a tussle, and caring rather more for a nice bit ot 
mischief than for his tasks. ” 

He came home at midsummer, taller by some inches* 
slender as a forest sapling, a gay, dashing, beautiful boy, 
but impatient of the least restraint, uncurbed as a wild 
colt, inclined to consider himself the representative of his 
family, and to put on airs accordingly. He tormented 
Vashti, tyrannized over Nora, played tricks on Mr. Percy 
Dascomb, and managed to give Aunt Margery a piece of 
his mind on several occasions. The whole house was riot 
and confusion while he staid ; and yet, strange to tell, 
everybody was sorry when he had gone. 

In the fall Leon Brownlee came again for a few days, 
getting but a cool welcome from Margery Gresham, but 
bringing cheer to Nora, setting her straight on a good 
many knotty points, and getting the heartache himself as 
he saw how thin, and changed, and toil-worn the child 
had grown. 

The evening before he left he followed Miss Gresham 
to her own room, and forced her to hold converse with 
him by the sheer persistency of his determination. In 
brief and pointed language he told her that she was all 
wrong in her system of repression and reserve; that she 
was killing Nora Everleigh by taking all sunshine away 
from her. 

“She wants companionship and kindness, Margery. 
You are stunting her, morally and physically. Do you 
think a child like that has no sympathies, no feeling? 
Give her agreeable occupation — not study merely, but 
something that will occupy her heart and hands as well as 
her mind/' 

“What ails the child, Leon?” said Margery, touched, 
in spite of her resentment toward him, by this unexpected 


1 68 


RECONCILED, 


appeal. "She used to go about singing all day, and 
romping with that great dog. Bute, you know, has been 
gone several months from home. Can it be she misses 
him so much?" 

Miss Margery had some twinges of conscience in this 
quarter. The last time the dog had been seen she had 
driven him fiercely out of the great hall — had even beaten 
him and fought him away. 

" Margery, can it be possible you do not know what 
has so changed that poor little Lenore ? What could it be 
but one thing ?" 

" She got a fright here one night when she was coming 
up to my room," said Margery, turning a shade paler; 
" was it that ?" 

4 'No, no, no, Margery. Margery, is it possible that 
you do not know that she heard every word of that ill- 
omened warning you gave me once ?" 

Margery Gresham started from her seat nearly beside 
herself with amazement and dismay. 

"Why did you never tell me, Leonidas?" she cried out, 
vehemently. 

"You will recollect that you were, and have been, very 
unapproachable to me for some time. Besides, I never 
thought but that she would herself tell you." 

" If I had known — if I had only known, I would never 
have said to that child, Leonidas, words I never should 
have said, if I had only known this — words that must have 
been torture to her. Why didn't she tell me what she 
had heard?" 

"It is your own fault, Margery. I must speak plainly, 
cousin, if I speak at all. It is your own fault. She is des- 
perately afraid of you ; she has never had any reason to be 
otherwise. She was too afraid of you to speak. " 


RECONCILED. 


169 


“I will try and make it different hereafter. I mean 
well, Leon. I would give every joint of mine freely to the 
rack, if by so doing I could save those children from their 
father’s fate.” 

“I haven't much faith in your system, Margery. Can 
you see that it has availed anything so far ? Almost any- 
body seems to have more influence over Vashti than you. 
She seems perfectly carried away with this tutor you have 
got. I don’t like that man, Margery.” 

‘ ' Tush! he’s well enough, for all I have ever seen. 
There’s no harm in Vashti’s liking him. If she wasn’t 
suited she’d be off to school in spite of me. I prefer to 
have her under my eye all the time ” 

‘ ‘ Which you fancy you have now, I suppose ; but let 
me tell you, Margery, you are a great deal easier deceived 
than anybody I know, if one only knows how to take you ; 
and if you don’t look out sharp you’ll find mischief going 
on right under your eyes. ” 

“ What do you mean, Leon ?” 

“That if you could get at this Dascomb’s heart, you’d 
find 'villain’ traced very legibly thereon. I wish you’d 
never seen him.” 

“Now, you are ridiculous, Leon. He brought the very 
best recommendations.” 

“Well, well, we will see; but I’d advise you to keep 
him under your eye, as well as Vashti.” 

In the morning Leon went away. 

To Nora this parting seemed infinitely harder than the 
other. He was a stay and support to her while he staid, 
but now he was gone, and she went disconsolately about, 
or moped in some dark corner, thankful if nobody noticed 
her. 

Often Margery Gresham passed her, lingering as she went 


170 


RECONCILED. 


by, feverishly anxious to approach her tenderly,, but doubt- 
ful how to do it. 

Later in the day Nora was standing in the door of the 
great hall, looking weary and listless, when what should 
she see but that dear, long-lost Bute, trotting up the road 
to the house. He looked miserable and forlorn enough, 
his silken ears drooping, his ebon hide muddy and travel- 
stained, his red tongue hanging from his fiery jaws and 
dripping froth. 

With an exclamation of joy, Nora almost threw herself 
upon him, crying : 

“ Ah, Bute, dear Bute !” 

The dog shook her off as though she had been a feather, 
and flinging upward his foaming jaws, snapped his teeth 
upon her bare, round arm, and trotted on, just as Philip, 
following close behind with his gun, called out too late : 

4 'Don’t touch him, Miss Nora — he’s mad !” 

"Great Heaven !” said a voice from the doorway, and 
in another instant Margery Gresham had the horrified child 
on her lap, as she sat down on the step, one arm holding her 
tightly to her, and with the other hand held the wounded 
arm pressed frantically to her lips. 

Philip dropped his gun and stopped, but four or five 
other men rushed by in pursuit of the dog. 

The sound of shots was heard presently, and very soon 
two of the men came back. Philip spoke with them, and 
one started immediately for the stables, which he seemed 
scarcely to have entered, before he was out again, and on 
horseback, riding as if for life down the avenue. 

"I have sent for Dr. Grade, Miss Margery. Is there 
anything else I can do?” 

She shook her head, removing her lips only long enough 
to rinse her mouth with some water he brought her. She 


RECONCILED. 


171 


was pale as death, and Nora lay quite motionless in her 
arms, her brown eyes going slowly from one to another of 
the group that had by this time gathered, and resting long* 
est on her aunt's white face — the face she had so feared. 
The expression of her gaze was beyond words. Once Mar- 
gery raised her eyes, and met that look with one of as in- 
tense meaning. In that instant, each knew that no after- 
bitterness or discord could come between the hearts of the 
stern, proud woman, and the little child. 

They were still sitting there on the steps, Margery with 
her frantic lips still pressed to the wound, when Dr. Grade 
came. He was a tender-hearted man, and Nora Everleigh 
was one of his pets. He dashed his hand suspiciously 
across his eyes, as he knelt by the pair, and proceeded to 
examine the wounded arm. 

“ By all that's good, Margery," he said, as he got up, ‘T 
think you have done this business better than I could, if I 
cauterized it a thousand times. " 

Margery Gresham was not given to tears over much, but 
as Nora, with an impulsive movement, put both arms about 
her neck, and laid her cheek to hers, she suffered her head 
to droop upon the child's shoulder with a sound very like a 
sob. 

They got up and went in presently, Nora supported by 
her aunt. She was taken to Miss Margery's room, whither 
the doctor followed to bleed her, which he considered only 
a harmless precaution against any injurious effect. He left 
also a “wash " for the wound, and one for Miss Gresham's 
mouth, assuring them, however, that there was not the least 
danger to be apprehended, in the face of such immediate 
and energetic treatment. 

Nora remained with her aunt through that day and night, 
nursed as carefully as though she had been really very ill, 


CHANGES. 


i?2 

and the expression of her sweet, thoughtful face, was re- 
flected like sunshine from Miss Margery’s. 

Henceforth, these two had no real misunderstanding. 
All that Margery Gresham asked was confidence and trust, 
and that Nora gave now freely. Unlike as the two were, 
there was a bond of sympathy between them — a common 
love. ” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

CHANGES. 

Vashti apparently was progressing wonderfully, and her 
educational facilities seemed of the best. Music, especially, 
she devoted a great portion of her time to, seeming pas- 
sionately engrossed by it. 

Nora made a less showy, but really more thorough ad- 
vancement, both of heart and head. An expression grew 
daily into her thoughtful face — so peaceful that it rested 
one’s eyes to look at her. She was learning how to cease 
from struggling — to give all her pain, her doubt, and de- 
spair into the All Father’s better hands, and “walk by 
faith. ” 

Frank came home at the Christmas holidays with his pe- 
culiar traits intensified, and went away leaving the same 
impression as before. Midsummer brought him again, 
wild and untamable as ever. 

This autumn, though Leon had purposed to visit Ever- 
leigh, he did not come. His father, while in England on 
business, was taken suddenly alarmingly ill, and his son 
was sent for in all possible haste. The father, though liv- 
ing when the son reached him, was quite unable to attend 


CHANGES . 


*73 

to business, and Leon took his place in the matter that 
had brought him there. 

Eventually Mr. Brownlee returned home — so shattered 
in health, however, that the son took upon himself the 
whole business charge — a charge which involved the neces- 
sity of his remaining in England for an indefinite length of 
time. 

At first it was thought he would be home in six months, 
possibly; but six years went by before he touched the 
American shore again. 

Four years at Everleigh had brought about considerable 
changes. It was a cool October evening again. In the 
sitting-room, Vashti Everleigh, matured to the proud and 
queenly developments her childhood had promised, stood 
at one side of the ample fire-lit hearth, listening, with im- 
patient look, word, and gesture, to Miss Margery Gresham. 
Miss Margery had grown sterner and more stately. 

Vashti looked willful and spoiled — a spoiled beauty. 
Her face was the purest oval, with her hair folded in shin- 
ing bands against it, her form slender, but well rounded, 
and her movements graceful. She wore a deep shade of 
crimson, with garnet ornaments upon her neck and arms, 
that caught flashes of fire-light as she turned impatiently 
from Miss Gresham, and walked two or three times across 
the room. 

“I am eighteen this day/' she said, as she walked. “I 
would never have waited till now to announce this my de- 
termination, for I scorn anything like concealment; but 
Percy insisted that I should wait, and I obeyed him, as I 
expect to obey my husband. ” 

“ Very conjugal you'll be, no doubt," said Margery, in 
her sarcastic way; “but you will never marry Percy Das- 
comb — never. ” 


174 


CHANGES . 


“Who will hinder me?” said Vashti, with a flash of her 
superb eyes. 

“I will. ” 

“You are powerless to do it.” 

“You will see;” and, after a pause : “But I don’t want 
to use my power, Vashti ; I want to see you yield to 
reason, and not insist upon marrying a man every way 
your inferior. ” 

“ Don’t tell me that, Miss Gresham ; your acquaintance 
with Mr. Dascomb dates from the same day with mine.” 

“What of that ? Is it not possible that I may have ob- 
served contemptible shades in his character which have 
been carefully concealed from you ?” 

“ There are no such shades ; I will not be set up against 
him.” 

“Vashti Everleigh, this fellow is not acting honestly by 
you, or else he is acting dishonestly by some one else.” 

“Insinuations are beneath my notice,” answered Vashti, 
haughtily. 

“You can have something broader, if you choose. 
Send for Miss Dale, and ask her what relation he bears to 
her.” 

Vashti s face was redder than her dress, as she answered, 
passionately : 

“Percy is nothing to Miss Dale. I know better. She 
has known of our engagement all along. She has been a 
true friend to us, to me — ever since she has been in the 
house. You were always trying to lower her in my estima- 
tion. But this is beyond endurance.” 

Miss Gresham looked at the girl in astonishment. 

“If Miss Dale has known of this affair long,” she said, 
“she must be a most consummate hypocrite. When my 


CHANGES . 


*75 


suspicions were first aroused on the subject, she assured me, 
that there was nothing of the kind. ” 

“Of course, she had no right to tell what had been con- 
fided to her in strict secrecy. '' 

“She had no right to lie to me, Vashti Everleigh.” 

“I am no hypocrite, Aunt Margery/' said Vashti, with 
a flush of shame. “I know nothing of what Miss Dale 
said to you. If I had known of your questioning her, I 
should have suffered her to tell the truth. I would rather 
she had told the truth ; but she only deceived you, through 
excess of friendship for me. ” 

“Deceived! Call things by their names. Miss Dale 
lied to me ; and if I am not greatly mistaken, she has lied 
to you. ” 

“I don't believe it, and I think you use very hard 
language. " 

“Well, well, send for Miss Dale. I should like to ask 
her a question or two in your presence — stay, I will go for 
her myself. " 

As Miss Gresham left the room by one door, Mr. Das- 
comb came in by the other, sauntering in indolent non- 
chalance up to the fire, not much changed from what he 
was when we last saw him, with his black hair and his 
black whiskers sleek and shining, and his white teeth show- 
ing between his complacent lips. He sat down, glancing 
over the elegant appointments of the room, with an “I am 
monarch of all I survey" air, and then lifting Vashti’s hand 
as he sat near her, began to toy with the rings on her slen- 
der fingers. She drew it away from him almost immediate- 
ly ; something in his familiar bearing jarred with her pre- 
sent mood. He was too indolent and careless, too assured 
to notice it, and sat with his effeminate hands clasped be- 


176 


CHANGES. 


fore him, gazing idly in the fire, ruminating, it is likely, 
upon his prospect of marrying an heiress. 

Presently Vashti said, with something of impatience, per- 
haps, at his silence and indifference : 

‘ ‘ Percy, Aunt Margery says you are not acting honestly 
by me. She says there is something between you and Miss 
Dale. ” 

She had meant to speak lightly, but, unconsciously, she 
spoke with angry emphasis. 

All the red went out of the gentleman s handsome cheeks, 
as suddenly as though an extinguisher had been abruptly 
slid upon his flaming hopes, and he grew white to the very 
roots of his whiskers. After an instant's vain effort to re- 
cover himself, he rose, kicked his chair out of the way 
savagely, wishing, no doubt, that the chair was Miss Gresh- 
am, and turned his back upon Vashti and the fire. 

“Gentlemanly, upon my word," said Vashti, in angry 
astonishment. 

He bit his lip, pulling fiercely at his whiskers. He really 
did not know what to say ; how much did Margery Gresham 
know, and how came she to know it? However, he blun- 
dered out at last, without looking at Vashti : 

“You don’t expect me to hear that my betrothed wife 
listens to such insinuations regarding me, and sit under it 
like a statue ?” 

His tone and his words were unfortunate — the very ones 
to strike fire on Vashti’s inflammable spirit. 

“I expect gentlemanly behavior from you always !” she 
answered, haughtily. 

She was not used to have him speak to her with that tone 
and manner. His bearing was usually obsequious and 
courtly in the extreme. 

He saw his mistake, through the fog of his dismay and 


CHANGES. 


177 


perplexity, and turning suddenly, seized both her hands, 
covering them with kisses, and saying : 

“ Forgive me; I cannot live under your displeasure; I 
cannot bear to be doubted. " 

“I have not doubted you, Percy/' she answered, more 
kindly. “I shall, if you talk and behave as you did just 
now. ” 

“I was wrong, but I was so excited at the mere thought 
of your suspecting me, that I did not at all know what I 
was about," he answered, lifting his blue, heavy-lashed eyes 
to the face of the imperious beauty, with a wonderfully con- 
trite expression. 

She smiled her rare smile at him, in token of forgiveness, 
and he said : 

“What did your aunt mean by saying I was not acting 
honestly by you ?" 

“Here she comes to answer for herself," Vashti replied, 
as Miss Gresham entered the room, followed by Miss Dale, 
looking considerably nonplussed. 

Mr. Dascomb could not for his life conceal his uneasi- 
ness, and he gave the ex-governess a fiery glance, that did 
not at all contribute to her self-possession. She answered 
him with a sullen look, and sat down in great apparent dis- 
composure. Miss Gresham opened her eyes, as she saw 
him, a'nd took no further notice of him. 

“I wish you would tell Miss Everleigh here, what is the 
exact relation you bear to Mr. Percy Dascomb, " she said to 
Miss Dale, confronting that lady, tall, stern, and grim ; 
“and you will please tell the truth this time." 

Miss Dale was struck with the same perplexed thought 
that had met Mr. Dascomb — how much did Miss Gresham 
know? Bad and contemptible as she was, however, she 
>vas shrewder than Mr. Percy, and was not the craven- 


178 


CHANGES . 


hearted being he threatened every instant to prove himself, 
by succombing to his fears, and giving up the ground. If 
Miss Gresham knew all there was to know, there was noth- 
ing to be gained by confession, she reasoned. 

“The relation I bear to Mr. Dascomb?” she said, look- 
ing at Miss Gresham with an air of innocent perplexity, 
“He is no relation of mine, Miss Margery/' 

Miss Margery frowned. 

“Don't equivocate, Miss Dale," she said. “I happen 
to have eyes, and know how to use them. I was accident- 
ally a witness of a portion of your interview with Mr. Das- 
comb the very day of his arrival, four years ago. I was in 
the ante-room there when you came through from this room. 
I heard nothing, but I saw what convinced me that the gen- 
tleman here told me a falsehood when he denied ever see- 
ing you before. However, I let that pass, concluding that 
it was some love affair that was none of my business, and 
whenever I was likely to come upon a tender passage be- 
tween you two I looked the other way. Latterly becoming 
suspicious of his peculiar bearing toward Vashti, I kept my 
eye on you again. I might have heard a great deal, but I 
only chose to see enough to convince me that he could have 
no designs upon Miss Everleigh. To-day, however, I am 
informed that an engagement of marriage has been entered 
into between them, and that you have been the confidante of 
this preposterous proceeding. Now then, Miss Dale, will 
you be kind enough to tell Miss Everleigh how it happens 
that the man she has promised to marry makes such very' 
affectionate demonstrations to other people, yourself for in- 
stance ?" 

Dascomb had by this time considerably recovered his as- 
surauce. If that was all Miss Margery knew there was 
nothing to fear. He was well aware of the peculiar feeling 


CHANGES . 


179 


which existed between Miss Gresham and Vashti — a feel- 
ing which he, as well as Miss Dale, has fostered to the best 
of his ability. 

Approaching Miss Margery with a most graceful and de- 
liberate manner, he said : 

“With all due respect to you, Miss Gresham, as an 
adopted relative of my future wife, I must beg leave to tell 
you that somehow you are laboring under a mistake. Miss 
Dale is a lady I have a very high esteem for — very ; but as 
to demonstrations of affection — pardon me — you are cer- 
tainly misinformed." 

Miss Margery’s face, under this elaborate peroration, 
wore an expression of most ludicrous amazement. The 
impudence of the man seemed at first utterly beyond her 
comprehension. 

“Misinformed!" she managed to blurt out. “How 
misinformed, sir ? Do you mean that I cannot trust the 
evidence of my own eyes ?" 

“I mean nothing offensive, indeed, madam, but you 
know one couldn’t remain silent under such insinuations 
as that, even from a lady. 

“Insinuations!" she cried, finding vehement voice at 
last. “There are no insinuations about it. It is a plain 
matter of fact. I have seen you myself caress that woman 
there — Miss Dale — with your arm around her and your 
lips upon her cheek. Insinuations indeed, sir ! I know 
very well what I am saying, and you to talk of taking an 
Everleigh to wife ! Vashti, Vashti, send this man off ! He 
taints the very air with his breath. " 

Vashti started as though some one had struck her. She 
had gradually, as if fascinated, drawn near the group. She 
put her hand on Dascomb’s arm. Pressing the hand in 
both his, he led her to a seat, whispering : 


i8o 


CHANGES . 


“ Trust me, my love; you will never fall into so base a 
plot against our happiness. ” 

To Miss Gresham he said, with an air of injured can- 
dor : 

“I forgive you, madam, your unjust imputations. With, 
out giving a lady the lie, which I am incapable of doing, I 
leave it to my betrothed wife whether or no appearances 
are not entirely opposed to your statement. Is it likely 
that a lady of Miss Dale’s qualities of person, mind, and 
heart would submit to such trifling as you speak of, or, hav- 
ing done so, could sit unmoved and hear me express my 
passionate devotion to another ?” 

“ She is not unmoved. See there !” 

Indeed Miss Dale had risen from her seat with a terribly 
agitated face. Dascomb’s cold blue eye was on her in an 
instant. She faltered as he looked at her, or seemed to 
falter in some determination. 

“My dear madam/’ he said, bowing before her with the 
profoundest respect, “do not suffer this most ridiculous 
and unfounded charge to afflict you so. Would that Percy 
Dascomb had never crossed this threshold, since his coming 
seems to have been productive of a scene like this. ” 

“Yes, better dead a thousand times!” burst like the 
explosion of a bomb from Miss Dale’s lips, as she turned 
away and walked nervously to the door. 

With a movement resembling the swift and stealthy 
tread of a tiger, he was at her side in an instant. Holding 
her hand in his as in a vise, he led her with an appearance 
of obsequious courtesy back, and to Vashti, saying gently, 
but with his steely eye on her : 

“It is only just that you should have an opportunity of 
vindicating yourself to this lady — of saying, as I say, that 
there has been neither foundation, nor shadow of founda- 


CHANGES . 


181 

tion, for any one thinking that there is ought between us 
save a friendly acquaintance. ” 

"I will not condescend to that/' she cried. “My 
humiliation is more than I can bear.” 

She wrenched her hand from him, and fled from the 
room. 

He did not even look at her. 

‘ ‘ Are you satisfied ?” he said, with a triumphant glance 
in his deluding eyes, as he bent before Vashti. “Is it 
enough that your true friend has been so bitterly humil- 
iated ? Shall I condescend to notice more this ridiculous 
charge against me ?” 

Vashti was silent. 

Miss Gresham had not spoken for many minutes. With 
an expression of angry but determined indifference, she 
was slowly pacing the floor. Now however, she ap- 
proached Vashti, and said, sternly : 

“Choose between him and me — choose !” 

He held his open hands supplicating before her. She 
laid her cold and trembling fingers upon his outstretched 
palms, lifted her haughty eyes to Margery Gresham’s face, 
and said : 

“I choose — him !” 

Stung to the heart, Margery only raised her hands be- 
fore her agitated face with a gesture of warning, and left 
the room. 

Arrived at her own chamber, she summoned Philip. He 
was with her an hour or more. 

Early in the morning, before any one else was astir, he 
was off, whither no one knew. He was absent a week, 
and when he returned brought letters to Miss Dale from 
her friends in Newbury, whither he had been, as he 
scrupled not to tell, making inquiries regarding the lady. 


CHANGES. 


i8* 


He learned some facts bearing immediately upon the ques- 
tion under consideration — namely, that years before, when 
Miss Hetty Dale was a blooming maid of sixteen, she had 
possessed a lover answering to the description of Percy 
Dascomb, save that he was only a stripling then, and 
bearing the same name. This lover had disappeared very 
suddenly, and he was at last given up as dead. Lately, 
however, it had been reported that one and another had 
occasionally seen a man resembling this Percy wonder- 
fully. People were inclined to believe that he was living. 

All this being laid before Vashti, did not seem to daunt 
her in the least. She had put her trust in Percy Dascomb, 
and she was willfully, passionately determined to trust him 
to the end. 

It was impossible for him to remaim at Everleigh after 
that scene with Miss Margery. Even he had not the 
audacity to do that, when Miss Margery laid the alterna- 
tive before her sister, Mrs. Everleigh, to banish him or she 
would go. 

Vashti rejected indignantly his proposal for a secret mar- 
riage. She had a right to marry when and whom she 
chose, and no need to skulk trom the face of friend or foe 
to do it, she declared. Neither would she be married in 
haste, as though she were afraid something might happen 
to break the match. Nothing — nobody could do that; 
nothing and nobody should do it. She would give every- 
body deliberate notice that she was to marry Percy Das- 
comb on such a day ; and, in spite of them all, she would 
do it. He had to submit. She herself appointed the first 
of June as her bridal day, and no amount of protestation 
or persuasion even from him, could induce her to 
change it. 


CHANGES . 1 83 

He went away inwardly vowing to take revenge for wait- 
ing when he had once secured her. 

He came stealing back again late at night to hold an in- 
terview with his old love, Hetty Dale, because she had 
thrust a note into his hand at parting, threatening to tell 
all if he did not come. 

He was cross and snarling, and Miss Dale, with a shawl 
over her head, was shivering with cold, and hot with anger, 
reproach^ and bitter invective. 

4 ‘You are fooling me, Percy; you are making a mere 
tool of me ; and, when you have got that scornful beauty 
for your wife, you will kick me out of your way ; but I 
won't be disposed of in that manner. I tell you I won't. 
I can make you or break you now ; and if you don't give 
over mocking me in this way, and jeering at the heart that 
never knew anything else but to throb for you, I'll burst 
the whole abominable scheme into as many fragments as 
there are leaves between this and the house." 

44 But, Hetty " he began, nervously. 

44 But me no buts. You think I can endure anything — 
everything ; but I can’t, and I won't. Make your peace 
with me, Percy Dascomb, or take the consequence. " 

44 1 will make no peace with you, Hetty Dale. Do your 
worst. It can't be much worse than these cursed months 
of waiting will be, and I am tired of your humors. " 

4 4 There is a limit to forbearance, Percy. Do you really 
dare me to the extent your words indicate?" 

44 You expect to' share in the profits, don't you ? What 
is all this nonsense about, then ?" he said, fiercely. 

4 4 The nonsense is this — that I won't submit to have you 
treat me in this manner any longer; I have endured 
enough." 

4 4 Zounds, Hetty, how cold it is ! Im off — wishing you 


1 84 


WORSE AND WORSE, 


will be in better temper before we meet again/' he said, 
with a sudden change from his former fierce tone to one of 
cool indifference. 

He took two or three steps away, she speechless with 
consternation, and, then turning back, put his gloved 
hands lightly on her shoulders, and left a kiss on her lips. 
He was gone again in an instant, and, chilled to the heart, % 
she went slowly up to the house, almost wishing that the 
earth would gap wide and swallow herself, Everlejgh, and 
him. 

He went tearing away through the grounds, dashing his 
hand with fierce loathing across the lips that had kissed 
her, and cursing the necessity that compelled him to buy 
her silence with caresses. 

“She tells the truth/' he muttered to himself, as he 
kicked the avenue gate open. “When I get that glorious 
Vashti and her portion counted out in the pure stuff, I 
shall cut Het decidedly, and this confounded country 
besides. " 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

WORSE AND WORSE. 

Miss Gresham made a great effort, and conquered her 
indignation sufficiently to try and treat Vashti exactly as 
formerly. It was quite impossible for them to meet, how- 
ever, without something of bitterness on one side, and of 
defiance on the other. 

Mrs. Everleigh was not accustomed to take a very de- 
cided position in anything. She was usually led and gov- 
erned by the will of others. Her strong point, however, if 


WORSE AND WORSE. 


185 


she had any, was her pride. She was herself of a proud 
old English stock, and, to her mind, the idea of an Ever- 
leigh marrying a tutor was connected with*everlasting dis- 
grace. With more spirit than had ever entered into any 
previous intercourse with her children, she announced her 
emphatic disapproval of the proposed match. 

Alone with her mother, Vashti might have received this 
announcement with some degree of moderation in her dis- 
pleasure ; but Miss Margery happening to be present, she 
allowed herself to be so carried away by anger, as appa- 
rently to quite forget to whom she was talking, and to use 
language that she never thought of in after years without 
agonized pangs of self-reproach. 

As for Mrs. Everleigh, she lifted her white face with a 
pitiful and shocked expression to Miss Gresham, saying : 

“Tell her to leave the room, Margery." 

Vashti waited no telling, but went out in sullen silence. 
Even then she would have craved forgiveness for her fault, 
if Miss Margery had not been present. 

She burst in upon Nora, reading in the sitting-room, her 
features convulsed with passion, and her lips overflowing 
with torrents of bitterness. 

Nora gathered something of the state of the case, enough 
to know that her sister had said something dreadful to their 
mother. She looked only less shocked than Mrs. Ever- 
leigh had done. 

“Vashti ! Oh, sister ! how could you — how could you ? 
Poor, sick mamma !” 

“Haven’t I said I was sorry?" Vashti answered, fiercely. 
“I couldn’t have spoken so, if that evil-eyed Margery 
Gresham had not been present. " 

Nora was silent, only looking sadly at her sister with her 
clear brown eyes. 


1 86 


WORSE AND WORSE. 


“That woman is my evil genius/’ Vashti continued. 
“ She has cursed my whole life ; she has never brought any 
good to our house. From the hour she entered Everleigh 
she has only done us evil, and that continually. ” 

She was pacing the room excitedly, her dusky eyes shin- 
ing luridly, and her cheeks on fire. 

“I wish I knew what it was about papa — just what it was. 
I would tax her with it, as true as my name is Vashti.” 

“About papa?” Nora said, a little startled. 

“About papa,” Vashti answered, emphatically. “ I sup- 
pose you know that there was some mystery attending pa- 
pa’s death. If you didn’t before, you know it now. ” 

Nora made no reply. It was Vashti’s custom to speak 
harshly to her often nowadays, and her custom to receive 
such harshness frequently, with a burning face, but always 
with silence. She had not yet sufficient control of her 
own passionate tongue to trust it with words at such times. 

“Papa did not die in the face of day, as other people 
do,” Vashti continued. “I remember, and you must, 
how carefully we were kept from the room where he lay ill, 
how we never knew he was dying till Margery Gresham 
told us he was dead, how we were only suffered to see him 
once before they hurried him off to the grave. There was 
no funeral, no minister, only Doctor Grade read the burial 
service over him, and they hustled him under the ground 
as though he had been a pauper.” 

With a face like death, Nora stood looking with appalled 
eyes from Vashti to the picture over the mantel-piece, and 
from that back to Vashti. 

“I had thought,” the elder sister said again, “that I 
would never tell you this. There are people who say that 
Margery Gresham knows more of papa’s death than she 
chooses to tell. I believe it. She always looks as though 


WORSE AND WORSE. 


187 


somebody had struck her whenever the subject comes up. 
She must have a guilty conscience, or she wouldn’t believe 
that ridiculous story about the Hermitage being haunted. 
I know she pretends she doesn’t believe it, but actions speak 
louder than words, and she never suffers one of us near to 
it, keeps it locked, and bolted, and barred as though it 
was a donjon keep, and looks like a ghost herself if any- 
body talks of entering the old shell. There, I believe she 
is coming now, and I would as soon see Medusa as her. ” 

She left the room as she spoke, slamming the door after 
her, and leaving one more root of bitterness in Nora’s 
heart. 

At Christmas, when Frank Everleigh came home, look- 
ing singularly manly and handsome, and with quite as 
lordly an air as ever, he shocked everybody by giving utter- 
ance to some very round oaths, and the subject of Vashti’s 
“ entanglement,” as he chose to call and consider it, with 
“that fellow.” 

It had never been his way to yield her a whit of defer- 
ence as his elder, which she was by two years. As children 
they had quarreled furiously over the exactions of Vashti’s 
imperious disposition. He chose to consider himself — 
being the only male representative of the family — as its 
head ; and he swore that his sister should never so far dis- 
grace herself and her blood as to marry this low, tutoring 
adventurer, with a language and manner so vehemently 
like his father, that Margery Gresham was for an instant 
almost frenzied with the horror which that resemblance in- 
spired, and leaving Vashti with her dark face rigid and pur- 
ple with passionate anger, she flew along the corridor to 
find Philip. Meeting Nora, she said, hoarsely: 

“Go to the sitting-room, Nora, for Heaven’s sake !” 

And finding Philip just outside the great hall-door, she 


1 88 


WORSE AND WORSE. 


seized hold of him and fairly dragged him thither also, 
crying : 

“Oh, Philip, this mad blood of the Everleighs, what a 
curse it is !” 

In the sitting-room, Vashti, with both hands, leaned 
heavily upon a table, trembling so that she could hardly 
stand, her white lips speechless with the storm that racked 
her. 

Frank, with a face like a madman’s, and orbs of fire, 
stood a few paces off, while Nora, with her pure eyes first on 
one and then on the other, drooped in the midst of this dis- 
graceful scene, praying sadly : 

“Oh, brother! oh, sister! it would kill mamma if she 
heard you. ” 

Frank’s wild face took a half sullen, half shamed ex- 
pression as Philip came into the room. If there was a 
person at Everleigh for whom he held a deep veneration and 
respect it was this old man, who had grown gray in his 
faithful service of the family, just as his father’s and his 
father’s father’s had done before him. He dropped into a 
chair, and with his elbows on his knees, leaned his face 
moodily upon his hands. 

Presently Vashti left the room, followed by Nora; Mar- 
gery Gresham was pacing the corridor, and looking inex- 
pressibly relieved at Vashti’s appearance. Philip and Frank 
sat silent some minutes, and then the former said, with a 
nervous, forced laugh : 

“We’re on the broad road to destruction, Philip. I sup- 
pose you indorse Aunt Margery on that point ?” 

“Oh, my dear Mister Frank, I can’t bear to hear you 
talk so.” 

“Just tell me, Philip, will you — what it’s all about — 
what’s the mystery about Everleigh ? How does it come 


WORSE AND WORSE. 


189 


that all the country round knows more about us than we 
do ourselves? Ah, Philip, Philip, did you and Aunt Mar- 
gery think we could grow up under the ghostly drapings of 
that old Hermitage, and never find out what a rare, won- 
derful heritage was ours ? Why, man, this execrable in- 
heritance has been thrown in my face a dozen times a week 
ever since I can remember. I have broken every other fel- 
low’s head at New Heaven for something of the sort. 
Philip Bryce, out with it. What in Heaven’s name is the 
doom that hangs over these old barracks? Will you tell 
me,' I say ?” 

He had risen, with a burst of fiery gesticulation, as he 
spoke, and waited, with a heaving chest, the old man’s 
response. 

Philip Bryce had risen, too, and with his clasped hands 
holding by the high old-fashioned mantel-piece, lifted his 
misty eyes to the portrait over it, dropping them with a wild 
misgiving to the young face so like — so like in its fierce 
eagerness of questioning, that his old and well-nigh broken 
heart seemed to die within him. 

“Will you tell me, old man?” almost screamed Frank. 

“Gold help me now; God help me!” said Margery 
Gresham to herself, as, unable to endure longer the echo of 
the scene in the sitting-room, she opened the door and 
came in, with slow, deliberate step. 

“Aunt Margery, will you tell me? I shall go mad over 
the uncertainty^ the doom that I know hangs over my 
race. This muffled, unknown dread, meets me at every 
turn. It is forever booming* in my ear in the midst of the 
rush of every-day life, like the sound of a funeral bell at 
sea. ” 

“Sit down, Francis Everleigh — calm yourself. I can 


WORSE AND WORSE. 


*90 

tell you nothing while your eyes glare upon me like a de- 
mon’s. ” 

“Miss Margery, oh, Miss Margery! Don’t tell him, it 
will do no go®d. ” 

* ‘ Peace, Philip ; have I not said these Everleighs shall 
not go to destruction unwarned ? I will tell him. It has 
been wickedly delayed too long now. It will not be in 
vain. Nora was warned — and with God’s blessing, Nora 
will be saved. ” 

Francis had sunk into his seat, seeming to retain it with 
difficulty, so great was his excitement. His face, pale as 
ashes, twitched convulsively and his lips writhed with im- 
patience. 

“Frank?” said Margery, in a voice so pitiful and tender 
that it did not sound like hers. “Frank — thy father’s son 
— be still — this curse that haunts thy house, can only be 
averted by one whose will is iron. Be still — be still — I can 
never tell you while you look thus, Frank.” 

Her cold hand dropped upon his brow. He dashed it 
off as though it had been a viper. 

“You are less than human to ask me to be calm, till you 
have told me what it is I dread, Aunt Margery. An un- 
known terror is a terrible thing. ” 

“My poor Frank ! it shall be unknown no longer. This 
is what, and all it is. A progenitor of the Everleigh family 
— a bold, bad, wicked man — a man of the most terrible 
and unbridled passions — a man who died a raving madman, 
left to his descendents the inheritance of his # bad blood, his 
crimes, his passions. A vulgar tradition says, he cursed 
them in words fearful and appalling — cursed them with a 
curse of madness! Inheriting this vitiated blood, the 
Everleighs have been a race that has reveled in the reckless- 
ness of an unbridled indulgence of all their bad passions. 


WORSE AND WORSE . 


191 

It is said that many of them have died madmen. I am 
told, however, that the old lord — Lord Roscoe Everleigh, 
who came to this country in its early settlement, and from 
whom you are directly descended, was a man loved as much 
as feared, which the Everleighs before him were not. This 
same tradition says, that in him a good and an evil spirit 
contended for mastery, but he died a madman. Since his 
time, the curse, whatever it was, has seemed to take at least 
a more mitigated form. You know that you Everleighs 
have tempers that are as consuming fire. This element in 
your compositions is a relic of that old, wicked curse. In 
every generation of your family in this country it has come 
to a deadly fruition. Your great-grandfather was a mad- 
man at forty- five. Your grandfather burst a blood-vessel in 
an ebullition of anger, having first caused the death of his 
own wife, by a blow given in the heat of passion. Your 
father s brother died in consequence of a willful persistency 
in a matter that he was warned would end fatally. Your 
father ” 

She paused, sending a glance of lightning toward Philip, 
who stood with his face buried in his hands ; over her 
features came that inexpressible change that always followed 
any allusion to Roscoe Everleigh. 

“Well — my father !” said the young man. 

“He gathered the same deadly fruit as the rest — it 
blasted his life ; it has blasted your mothers once bloom- 
ing existence ; it has wrecked Philip. See there — an old 
man, with a breaking heart ; see me, an old woman, before 
my time. The blow that struck him struck us all who 
loved him. Ah, woe is me \” 

The agony concentrated in her last words was beyond 
description : 

“Tell me, how did he die ?” 


192 


DREAD. 


“How? Francis, do you ask me that? What can I 
tell you that you do not know ? Do you mock me, sir ?” 

“I have heard terrible hints, Aunt Margery. I must 
know. Did my father take his own life ?” 

“No.” 

“Is it the truth, Philip, that she tells?” 

“ Before Heaven, it is, sir,” the old man lifted his head 
to say. 

The young man's head drooped to his hand resting on 
his chairback. They went out presently, and Margery 
sent into him Nora, “for,” she said, “you are fighting 
the good fight, Nora, and I believe you will come off 
conqueror. ” 

When they came out an hour after — Frank and Nora-- - 
they had both been crying. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

DREAD. 

Francis Everleigh went back to New Haven to school. 
Winter settled its gray pall over the old brown-stone house; 
the oaks and the elms, the chestnuts and the maples, 
tossed their gaunt arms against the sky ; and gloomy fore- 
bodings, sickness of heart, long, weary days, kept watch 
and ward at Everleigh. 

Nora's was the one undimmed face that brightened the 
dark hours of that long, brooding winter. Vashti staid 
much in her own room, or drew fitful bursts of stormy 
music from the piano, to which she resorted often. She 
was gloomy, silent, and reserved. Mrs. Everleigh drooped 


DREAD. 


193 


rather more than usual this winter. Margery Gresham 
began to stoop slightly as she walked. Miss Dale — well, 
she looked paler and thinner than any one had ever known 
her ; but she was gay to extravagance — gay with a hilarity 
that nobody was pleased with. She seemed in a nervous 
tremor and excitement, laughing constantly like an actor 
in a farce, hovering about Mrs. Everleigh, and avoiding 
Vashti inexplicably. Her influence over the poor sick 
lady increased rather than diminished daily ; but, alas, it 
seemed of late to one mind an influence rather of fear 
than love. 

Nora, always hanging about watching for solitary mo- 
ments when Miss Dale was absent from the room, that 
she might steal in for a kiss or a loving word, was shocked 
by being bidden by her mother to hurry away before Miss 
Dale got back — bidden with an accent and expression of 
terror as mysterious as sad. 

As spring came — spring that always heretofore glad- 
dened Everleigh — every one seemed to shrink dismayed 
and scared at its approach. 

Vashti kept more than ever to her room ; Miss Dale's 
levity grew more boisterous and ill-timed ; and Margery, 
Margery Gresham, avoided everybody, falling into long fits 
of moody abstraction, sitting for hours with her stern face 
motionless, and her clasped hands upon her lap, or pacing 
the floor in a seemingly tireless march. 

March, April, May. 

The birds sang, the flowers blossomed, sunbeams chased 
shadows in the beautiful grounds round Everleigh, but 
within one shadow stalked that mocked the sunniest sun- 
beam that ever danced. 

Nobody said “ first of June,” but everybody's heart was 
heavy with the thought of it. 


194 


DREAR . 


It was the last week in May. Margery Gresham came 
suddenly upon a man sauntering carelessly along, his 
clasped hands behind him ; an indolent, handsome, 
wicked-faced man, with an “I am monarch of all I sur- 
vey” air. 

His white teeth glanced like ivory between his sneering 
lips as, without seeming at all startled, he lifted his hat to 
her and passed on. 

“She has not given up this mad plan, then,” Margery 
murmured to herself, hurrying toward the house as though 
a demon traeked her steps. “I was a fool to think of 
it — a besotted fool to think anything could hinder an 
Everleigh. ” 

Going straight to Mrs. Everleigh's room, she said to her 
sister : 

“I have just seen Dascomb in the grounds. Possibly 
Vashti has not yet seen him. Send for her to read to you ; 
it will at least give me time to think what I can do, and 
above all act as though you suspected nothing. ” 

Vashti came at the summons after a little delay. Some 
expression in Miss Dale's eye enlightened her, or gave her 
a hint as to why she had been sent for. She glanced round 
the room with a heightened color, and an alarmed light in 
her eye that was not lost on Mrs. Everleigh. 

She sat down, however, and read as Mrs. Everleigh re- 
quested, her face flushing and growing white by turns, and 
her voice, in spite of all her efforts, unsteady. 

Presently she closed the book — it was growing dusk — 
and going to Mrs. Everleigh kissed her, saying : 

“I do not feel very well to-day, mamma, so I will bid 
you good-night now. ” 

“Don't leave me, Vashti,” Mrs. Everleigh said, holding 
her close; “don't go; stay by me.” 


DREAD. 


*95 


Vashti sat down again, looking greatly distressed, and 
struggling with some rising feeling, which filled her eyes 
with tears, that she stealthily wiped away, hoping that in 
the dimness of the room they had escaped observation. 

After a little she rose again. 

"I must really go, mamma; I feel very bad, indeed.” 

There was no doubt of this last being true; the hand 
and lip that touched Mrs. Everleigh's were burning hot. 
Something trembled on Mrs. Everleighs tongue. She 
longed to say, "It will kill me if you marry that bad man, 
Vashti,” but she was not sure that the girl knew of Das- 
comb's presence. She feared to rouse the passionate spirit 
that had wrung her heart so cruelly when they had last 
spoken on this subject; finally, it must be confessed, she 
feared to speak before Miss Dale, and she had great con- 
fidence in Margery Gresham's efforts for as peaceful an ad- 
justment of the matter as possible, so, as Vashti said again, 
"Good-night, mamma,” she only lifted her lips and her 
arms, held her an instant close — close — as though she 
feared she might never hold her thus again, and with a 
long, lingering look upon the face that tried to hide itself 
upon her shoulder, she let her go. 

As Vashti closed the door, she got a glimpse of eyes so 
earnest, wistful, and yearning, that she went away to her 
room, with the tears drifting in blinding mists over her eyes. 
Her room that reminded her so painfully of her loving 
mother, whom she was hardening her heart to leave. Her 
trunk — not the big trunk she had taken to Laurel Hill, but 
a light affair that she could almost shoulder herself, stood 
there, packed and strapped down. Just within the closet 
at her side, were her bonnet, mantle, and a traveling dress. 

She sat down on the trunk, crying bitterly. Presently 
she rose, and threw herself on the bed, but not to sleep. 


DREAR . 


196 

She felt too dreary and excited for sleep, and her head ached 
till it seemed bursting with pain. She heard the various 
sounds about the house which indicated that the household 
was retiring to its rest. She heard Nora come to her room, 
and after a little, open the door into Vashti’s. With a 
stealthy movement Vashti drew the snowy spread up over 
her, that Nora might not see that she was lying there with- 
out having undressed, and pretended to be asleep. 

Nora stepped softly to the bed, stooped over and kissed 
her sister, and with a half sigh stole out again to her own 
bed, in which she was soon sleeping sweetly. 

When all seemed to have grown perfectly quiet, Vashti 
rose, and groping her way to the closet before mentioned, 
proceeded slowly and with trembling fingers to disrobe 
herself, and assume the traveling-dress, bonnet, and man- 
tle. Her gloves she slipped into her pocket, for she felt 
that she needed untrammeled fingers for the rest of her un- 
dertaking. 

Opening her door noiselessly, she stepped out into the 
passage in slippered feet. Stopping every moment, she 
groped her way on to the hall. The great door was closed. 
She had no thought of opening it ; but beyond, a few paces 
down a passage toward the kitchen, was a small side-door. 
This yielded to her touch silently. Leaving it open, she 
flew down the walk. From a thicket of shadows some- 
body stepped forth and clasped her in his arms. 

Disengaging herself, she said under her breath. 

( ‘ They watch so closely at the house that I have con- 
cluded to try it to-night. Later, I am afaid it would be 
impossible. It galls me to have to steal away in the night, 
but for mamma's sake I go in this way, and thus avoid the 
storm that a more open manner of procedure would entail 


DREAD. 


197 


upon us. Excitement, you know, always makes mamma 
ill. ” 

“My Peri!” he answered, “there has been a carriage 
waiting near the avenue gate, every night for more than a 
week.” 

“ I must have the trunk ; it is only a small affair, but it 
is indispensable. Can you go in with me and get it. The 
house is quite quiet, the doors all open or ajar between this 
and my room. 

“For you, my queen, I could become a second Daniel 
in the den of lions,” he said, following her in. 

They reached the door of Vashti's room in safety ; but, 
oh, unlucky contretemps ! it was shut and resisted all 
efforts to open it ! 

This is Margery Gresham's work, depend upon it, ” whis- 
pered Vashti. “She is doubtless on our track. What 
shall we do? It would be too mortifying and ridiculous to 
be hindered now.” 

“And we won't be hindered, not fora hundred Mar- 
gery Greshams. We will take this door; she is' probably 
guarding the one we came in by. Give me your hand. ” 

One of those bewildering side entrances spoken of in a 
description formerly given of Everleigh, gave them egress, 
and they reached the avenue gate by a slightly circuitous 
route. But from beside it stepped Margery Gresham, 
Philip, and Elise. 

“You cannot pass here,” said Margery, a little in ad- 
vance of the others. “By your mother's orders, Vashti 
Everleigh, I bid you return to the house.” 

“I shall never do it,” answered Vashti, clinging to her 
lover. “I will never enter those doors save as Percy Das- 
comb's wife, or worse. ” 

“Your words area prophecy, willful child, for it will 


198 


DREAD. 


certainly be what you consider worse. As Percy Das- 
comb's wife, your mother bade me tell you, you should 
never darken her doors. ” 

“Be it so," was the haughty answer. “Meanwhile, 
good people, let us pass, for our business is of great mo- 
ment. ” 

‘ ‘ I thought you considered yourself to have an inalien- 
able right to marry when, where, and whom you choose. 
I thought you were one of those who would never skulk 
from the face of day," Margery said, with bitter sarcasm. 

“Neither would I, only to save mamma from the scene 
your officiousness would force upon her if I married, as I 
certainly have a right to do, at home. ” 

“Very filial you are suddenly! Do you not suppose 
there will be quite as dreadful a scene, when she learns 
what has happened ?" 

“ Suffer us to pass, if you please," said Vashti. 

“Stand still, Philip and Elise. Vashti, your bonny cava- 
lier is an arrant coward as ever I saw. If it depends on 
his personal efforts to carry you off, you’ll never get away. 
But they say people always marry their opposites." 

Percy Dascomb was just as mean-spirited and cowardly 
as Margery pronounced him ; but as Vashti looked at him 
in haughty expectation of something to refute this stinging 
taunt of Margery’s, and as, after all, two women and one 
old man were not very formidable, he took a brisk pace 
or two toward them, saying : 

“I’m just coward enough, Miss Margery, to shrink from 
a contest with women ; but if this lady on my arm com- 
mands me to force a passage, I consider myself bound to 
obey her behest. " 

‘ ‘ Philip, you ought to have muscle enough to pitch him 
over the fence. He can’t be very heavy. I’m sure I have 


DREAD. 


199 


seen you fling twice as great a weight twice as far as that/' 
said Margery Gresham, turning coolly to Philip. 

The old man, thus addressed, stepped from behind Miss 
Gresham. Percy Dascomb involuntarily dropped back a 
pace or two, crying : 

“ Don't touch me, old man.” 

“I have no intention of doing so, sir. Miss Vashti,” 
laying a hand on her arm, “ won't you give this over for 
the present ? As you say, you have a right to marry whom 
you please ; but not in this manner — not in this disgraceful 
manner. Go back to the house, my dear Miss Vashti ; 
your mother will give her consent in time, if you continue 
to desire it ; and then what a gallant wedding we will 
have !'' 

“I cannot, cannot, Philip ; they will never consent, any 
of them. Frank is as much opposed as mamma ; they 
will never consent, till their consent has ceased to be 
necessary. I must go; I will go. You have often said 
of us Everleighs that we always go our own gait. It is 
idle and worse to argue with me. I shall certainly go as 
the sun will rise to-morrow morning. Open the gate for 
us, Philip.” 

“ Leave the gate alone, Philip, and pitch that fellow into 
the road,” called Miss Gresham. 

“ I can't do it, ma'am, indeed,” he answered Miss Mar- 
gery, sadly. “I've obeyed the Everleigh voice too long 
to turn rebellious now. I can't do it, Miss Margery. ” So 
saying, he opened the gate with the profoundest respect, 
and held it for the pair to pass out. 

Vashti paused as she came near him, extending her 
hand, with a 

“Thank you, Philip.” 


200 


DREAD. 


“Em much afraid you're going wrong, miss. God 
send you in the right road. ” 

“I hope he may, Philip," and after a word with her 
companion, “I have been compelled to leave my trunk, 
Philip. It is ready packed in my room. Will you be 
kind enough to send it after me to Albany, if you have an 
opportunity — to the Livingstone House, State Street ? 
Will you remember, Philip?" 

“Yes, ma’am." 

She said, “Good-by, Elise," without a word to Miss 
Gresham, and was assisted into the carriage which waited 
for them. 

And so Margery Gresham went back up to the house 
without having accomplished her object, which really she 
had scarcely expected to do. 

There was one consolation — Mrs. Everleigh was still in 
total unconsciousness of Vashti’s escapade. She had given 
Margery carte blanche as to Vashti, so that she had told the 
truth to that willful girl in regard to her mother’s orders. 

It was destined to be an eventful night. 

A little after midnight the ponderous knocker on the 
great door of the house was clanged with such vehement 
violence as to waken nearly every inmate. They came hur- 
rying from their rooms to see what it was all about. Mrs. 
Everleigh was among them. She had wakened screaming, 
and possessed with what seemed like an insane conviction 
that this unusual summons concerned her particularly, she 
had joined the others in the great hall. 

As Philip shot back the huge bolts, and the door swung 
open, a group of men entered, bearing what? 

Oh, poor Mrs. Everlergh ! Poor hapless mother ! What 
- — only Frank l Frank, with his black curls dabbled in 
blood, and a cleft on his white forehead, where the horse’s 


DREAD. 


201 


hoof had struck him. He had been coming home in mad 
haste to meet the “ First of June too impatient to wait for 
morning, he had taken a horse and come on from Harts 
Corners on horseback. A mile or two back his horse had 
stumbled and thrown him, and he lay by the roadside till a 
party of gentlemen coming along discovered him; one 
recognizing him, they brought him home. 

“He is not dead/' said one, with a pitiful glance at the 
appalled faces round him. 

The announcement came too late for poor Mrs. Ever- 
leigh, she lay at Margery’s feet in strong convulsions. 

They lifted her, and bore her to her room. Frank was 
taken to his room, the same one which had been his 
father’s, and a man was started on the fleetest horse in the 
stables for Dr. Grade. 

The men who had brought him dropped off after a little, 
all save one, who, being in active attendance on Frank, it 
seemed necessary should remain. 

Dr. Gracie came very soon. Frank proved not danger- 
ously, though seriously hurt, but Mrs. Everleigh’s case 
turned out to be the critical one. She continued in most 
frightful spasms all night, and by morning the tender- 
hearted doctor announced to the family that her case was 
utterly hopeless, she could not possibly live a week. 

“Oh, if we could send for Vashti !” exclaimed Nora; 
and something to the same import dropped from Margery’s 
unhappy lips. 

‘ ‘ If there is anything I can do for you, pray command 
me,” said the stranger, who had remained over night, and 
was passing at the moment. 

Doctor Gracie thanked him, and as s@on as he was out 
of hearing, said : 

“Why not, Miss Margery? He seems very much a gen- 


202 


TRIBULATION. 


tleman, and a man who might be trusted in so delicate a 
matter as this. ” 

“But he is a stranger, sir,” said Miss Margery, doubt- 
fully. 

‘ ‘ I don’t care for that. I call myself a judge of physi- 
ognomy ; and I will stake my reputation, that the man is a 
perfect gentleman, body and soul. ” 

“If he will,” said Margery, “you will have to tell him 
something of the circumstances ; there is no other way. 
And, oh doctor, if he shouldn’t overtake them before they 
get to Albany, he’ll find them at the Livingstone House, 
State street. I heard her tell Philip the address. ” 

“Livingstone House, State street,” the doctor muttered, 
taking out his pencil and writing on a slip of paper, and 
then leaving them to find the stranger. 

Returning soon, he said to Margery in an undertone : 
“All right; he’s gone. I gave him a note for Vashti. 
Described the pair ; runaway match — bring Miss Everleigh 
back — mother dying — and all that. ” 

The good doctor meant no levity with his abrupt sen- 
tences, it was only a queer way he had, when deeply moved 
or greatly excited. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

TRIBULATION. 

As Dr. Gracie had said, the gentlemanly stranger who 
had so kindly offered his services had immediately betaken 
himself to the performance of his errand. They — the run- 
aways — had greatly got the start of him, but he did not de- 
spair of being able to overtake them. At the towns on the 


TRIBULATION. 


203 


route he heard tidings of them, but with his best efforts he 
did not overtake them till quite at their journey's end, late 
on the evening of the same day. 

He followed them almost immediately into the parlor of 
the Livingston House, where Mr. Dascomb had left his 
charge alone a little while. She sat with her weary head 
leaning upon her hand, her bonnet off and on the carpet 
beside her. At the sound of her name, in strange tones, 
“Miss Everleigh," she started up from her position. The 
full blaze of the lamp fell on her pale, beautiful face ; her 
strange, dusky eyes, looked straight at the stranger. 

Both started. 

“Professor Thorpe !” dropped almost unconsciously from 
her lips, and “Queen Vashti !” from his. 

He was surprised, wonderfully so. The name, the faces 
at Everleigh, had struck him as singularly familiar, but he 
had never once thought who they reminded him of till he 
met her there. Taken by surprise as he was, be never for 
an instant suffered himself to forget his errand. He gave 
her the letter with a certain air of sternness. 

Her great handsome eyes went over it like a flash. He 
had expected that she would faint, but she did not. Her 
face indeed blanched to an awful whiteness, but her voice 
was preternaturally calm as she asked : 

“When can we go?" 

“Now, if you are ready; my carriage is at the door. I 
have fresh horses waiting a mile or two from here. Shall 
we go?" 

“Instantly." 

She was going out without her bonnet. He took it from 
the floor and put it on her head. She suffered him even to 
tie the strings in a vague, unconscious way, and then to 
lead her out. 


204 


TRIBULATION. 


In the hall they met Dascomb. 

“Vashti l” he exclaimed, “ where are you going?” 

She looked at him absently, and when he laid his hand 
on her arm she shook it off, saying, with her face turned 
from him : 

‘ ‘ Mamma is dying. ” 

“But Vashti,” he called, as she swept on, following her 
in incredulous amazement, and putting his hand forth again 
to detain her. 

She looked at him deliberately an instant with strange 
eyes, as though she had never seen him, and then calmly 
disengaging herself from him, said again : 

“Mamma is dying.” 

Professor Thorpe put her in the carriage, pushing Das- 
comb back as he did so, for the man pressed forward, fran- 
tic at seeing his prospective bride torn from his arms in this 
abrupt and unexpected manner. Repelled from the side of 
the carriage he leaped to the horse's head, crying : 

“It is a lie — a swindle ! Give me back my wife !” 

The vociferous outcries were gathering a crowd. Pro- 
fessor Thorpe turned to the lady. 

“Are you his wife?” 

“No,” she answered, mechanically, with her pale, emo- 
tionless face looking straight before her. 

“That lady is my wife,” Dascomb called to the by- 
standers. “The villain is stealing my wife !” 

They gathered in excited groups around the vehicle ; the 
matter began to grow serious. Dascomb, releasing the 
horse's head, came round again to Vashti's side, and at- 
tempted to remove her. She coolly put him away, saying, 
“ Wy don't you drive on?” to her companion. 

“Stand off, sir, or I shall strike you V' said Thorpe, his 
temper by this time fully up, and raising his long-lashed 


TRIBULATION. 


205 


riding-whip over Dascomb's head, who recoiled involun- 
tarily. “Hands off, my friends !” He lashed the horse 
as he spoke ; the animal reared frantically, and, with a leap 
that nearly threw them out, dashed through the crowd and 
away down the dim street, and, like an arrow from a bow, 
was immediately lost to view. 

Dascomb was like a madman. Something after the 
manner of that famous Richard of whom we have all 
heard, he issued frantic appeals for “A horse ! a horse !” 
and, having obtained one after some-moments of delay, off 
he went, the crowd cheering and the boys hooting after 
him. 

Professor Thorpe stopped a few miles out of town to get 
a fresh horse. He had made the exchange, and was per- 
suading Vashti to drink a glass of water and have some re- 
freshments, when Dascomb came foaming up, and, throw- 
ing himself from his horse, made some demonstrations of 
renewing the contest — taking care; however, to keep a safe 
distance from the horsewhip, which confronted him 
threateningly. 

‘ ‘ I leave the matter entirely to the lady, ” said the pro- 
fessor. “It is her choice to go with me, and moreover, 
she is not your wife, nor ever likely to be, if you do not 
keep a more civil tongue in your head. Ask her yourself 
if she will go or stay. Oh, come as close as you like; I 
sha’n't strike you without fair warning. ” 

He smiled grimly, and Dascomb came up once more to 
Vashti, extending his hands, and saying : 

“Stay with me, dearest, till morning, and I will myself 
take you back to Everleigh. ” 

His tender words seemed to strike no answering chord 
in her heart. She looked at him coldly, and, turning to 
Professor Thorpe, said, in her clear, passionless tones : 


TRIBULATION. 


206 

“Will you send him away? the sight of him is hateful 
to me. ” 

“You are answered, sir; be off!” said the professor, 
passing the rejected refreshments and empty tumbler to an 
attendant, and leaping into the carriage with a warning 
flourish of his whip. 

Dascomb fell back with a face of deadly whiteness, and 
eyes whose expression of malignity and hatred the professor 
and bystanders remembered long after. 

Vashti preserved the same passive silence during the 
whole of that long night ride, never speaking save in mon- 
osyllables, and then only when addressed. 

Morning was breaking in the rosy east when they reached 
Everleigh. As they drove through the avenue gate, and 
up to the house, Vashti shivered a little, but she seemed 
outwardly calm. Her hand, as it touched the professor’s 
in descending from the carriage, was like ice. 

He led her in. In the hall they met Margery Gresham 
and Doctor Grade. She turned with an ill-repressed 
shudder from Margery, saying, with her eyes on the doc- 
tor’s face. 

“Is my mother dead ? Have I killed her?” 

The doctor and professer exchanced glances. The doc- 
tor said : 

“Your mother is still alive, but knows no one.” 

And Professor Thorpe, taking both her unresisting hands 
in his, said, with his pitying glance : 

“There is some misconception here. Your brother was 
thrown from his horse and severely injured. It was the 
shock of seeing him brought in apparently dead that caused 
your mother this alarming attack of illness. She does not 
yet know that you have even left the house. ” 

“What was Frank coming home for? On my account? 


TRIBULATION. 


20 7 


I know he was — so it is I who have killed her all the 
same. ” 

He dropped her hands and walked to the door to con- 
ceal the emotion that was struggling over his countenance, 
and she passed silently on to her own room, where, having 
exchanged her traveling-robes for her usual home dress, 
she came out, pale as a statue of Niobe, but collected in 
her demeanor, and firmly determined to go to her mother. 
It was in vain that the good doctor, fearing the effects of 
so frightful a scene upon her in her present unnatural state 
of mind, opposed her approaching Mrs. Everleigh. She 
bade him feel her pulse, and assured him, with singularly 
quiet tones, that she was as calm as she ever was in her 
life. 

“ Your pulse does not say so. Your nervous system is 
in an awful state of tension. How do you feel bodily ?” 

“Well, except a sort of numbness over me that seems 
as if it would never let me feel mental or physical pain 
again. ” 

“And which is one of the premonitions of the family 
doom, ” the physician said, inwardly, as he looked anxiously 
at her. 

“ My head was aching yesterday, but I feel no pain now, 
although I have not slept for two nights and days,” she 
added, with a faint smile, meant to reassure him of her 
perfect fitness for her undertaking. 

“You must retire to your room and try to sleep,” Doc- 
tor Gracie said. “I don’t want another patient on my 
hands. I shall give you a strong narcotic and send you to 
bed. ” 

She shook her head. 

Just then the door of Mrs. Everleigh’s r®om opened and 
some one came out. Through the open door and down 


20 % 


TRIBULATION 


the meandering passage sounded the screams and cries of 
one in mortal agony. 

Vashti turned her calm eyes to the doctor’s face inquir- 
ingly. 

‘ ‘ Go to your bed, ” he said, soothingly. 1 1 Y our mother’s 

room is no place for you. ” 

“Were those sounds from her room? I must go to her 
instantly. ” 

“You must not.” 

She looked at him with her deliberate, unmoved eyes. 

“I know,” she said, “you fear any great excitement for 
me. You think it will precipitate the malady that waits at 
every turn of our lives like a blood-thirsty wolf greedy to 
fasten its cruel fangs upon our souls. You see I know all 
about it, doctor. Your efforts and Margery Greshams 
have entirely failed of keeping the truth from me ; but I 
never in my life was farther from that of which you are 
thinking. I realize everything with what seems to me pre- 
ternatural distinctness, but I have no sense of pain con- 
nected with it. I see my duty too clearly now to be turned 
aside from it, except by literal force, which I sure you have 
no idea of employing, as it would be much more danger- 
ous than to suffer me to have my own way. 

Thus saying, she went with her usual slow, graceful step 
to her mothers room, the astounded doctor offering no 
resistance, but following her with a terrible misgiving in 
his heart. 

Miss Dale, Nora, Margery, Elise were all there. The 
bed had been drawn to the center of the room, that they 
might get on every side of it. Miss Dale was holding one 
of the sufferers hands, she being for the instant quiet. 
She yielded her place to Vashti’s peremptory movement 
with a startled astonishment too great for words, and her 


tribulation: 


2 09 


wild eyes searched the girl’s pale face with an intensity of 
inquiry. She had not known till that moment that she 
had even been sent for. Nora’s greeting of her sister \yas 
only an eloquent and tearful glance from her to mamma. 

The poor lady was in a frightful state. The paroxysms 
were so violent as nearly to throw her from the bed, but 
for the watchfulness of her attendants ; drops of agony 
stood upon her face, every feature was distorted, and foam 
flecked her purple lips. Her moans and cries were heart- 
rending. Yet through it all, Vashti was the same preter- 
naturally calm and self-possessed being. Margery Gresham 
looked almost afraid of her ; and Nora, at the first oppor- 
tunity, whispered through white lips : 

“ What ails you, Vashti ?” 

For the first time her eyes took a sad and stern expres- 
sion, as she replied : 

“God has taken away my heart of flesh, and given me 
a heart of stone. It is a righteous judgment.” 

“How long can she live, probably?” she asked Dr. 
Gracie, soon after. 

‘ ‘ She cannot live the day out if these paroxysms con- 
tinue,” was the reply. “She has no vitality ; her consti- 
tution is entirely sapped by previous illness.” 

“Will she come to herself sufficiently to know me ?” 

“ I cannot tell — it is quite probable ; but she will sink 
rapidly when these spasms leave her.” 

All day Vashti never left the bedside for an instant — not 
to see Frank, not to eat, not to drink. She swallowed 
several times a cup of strong tea which a servant brought 
her, and mechanically ate a piece of bread, without stirring 
from her mother’s side. 

As the afternoon waned, the paroxysms grew more and 
more violent. Nora left the room at intervals, unable to 


210 


TRIBULATION. 


endure the scene, but as often came back, quite as unable 
to remain away, cowering in a corner of the room, power- 
less to render any assistance, but fascinated to the spot. 
Dr. Gracie ordered her to her own room at last, blaming 
himself for not having done so before, and promising to 
call her the instant any change should occur. 

Margery Gresham looked like a ghost, and was tremu- 
lous with excitement and fatigue, but refused to leave that 
terrible dying bed. Elise was too overcome to be of much 
use, and Dr. Gracie acknowledged to himself, with a burst 
of emotion, that the dauntless presence of that unconquer- 
able Vashti was worth more than that of all the rest 
together. She never flinched from her post, she never 
wavered when the awful agony of the dying woman wrung 
sharp cries from the others, but with her calm, white hands 
now wiped the agony drops from the poor, distorted face, 
now moistened the swollen and parched lips, or rubbed 
the continually cramping muscles. 

From one spasm, more violent than any before had 
been, the sufferer fell away into perfect quietude, her eyes 
closed as if in sleep. Dr; Gracie motioned them to the 
utmost silence, and going noiselessly from the room him- 
self, brought Nora to see her mother die. Frank, alas ! 
was unable even to be told of the blow that impended. 

Mrs. Everleigh slept, or seemed to sleep, a full quarter 
of an hour. Then her blue eyes opened wide, and went 
with a slow, inquiring gaze over the tender faces around. 
Vashti held her in her arms, a scarlet flush staining her 
cheeks, and her great wild eyes motionless no longer, but 
luminous with frightened entreaty. 

“Mamma, forgive — forgive poor Vashti !” 

The dying woman looked at her with unutterable affec- 
tion ; her lips moved, but gave forth no sound ; her eyes 


A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 21 1 


closed. Lifting the almost nerveless hand, Vashti laid it on 
her head, crying passionately : 

“ Mamma, bless Vashti !” 

Like one called back from death to life, and hovering 
there, the dying mother opened her fast glazing eyes, saying 
in a feeble whisper something, of which those standing 
round gathered the words “blessed,” and “forgiven.” 

Her hand slipped from Vashti s head, its pulse had 
stopped. There was a sound of low sobs in the room that 
death had entered, and Vashti, not fainting, but feeble as 
a little child, with the reaction upon her overwrought 
powers, had to be supported to her bed, where she imme- 
diately fell away into a long slumber, so deep, so still, so 
almost breathless, that Nora longed to wake her, lest she, 
too, should die. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A WOLF IN SHEETS CLOTHING. 

Dr. Grade made no attempt to conceal his anxiety with 
regard to Vashti. He had a guard posted at each entrance 
of the passage leading by her door, with the most positive 
orders to maintain the utmost silence. No one was suffered 
to even enter the passage, save himself, Margery Gresham, 
or Nora. Margery Gresham placed herself at the very 
threshold of the door, leaving it only for a short interval of 
rest, and the anxious expression of her deep gray eye was 
something almost fearful to look upon. The household 
was hushed to the utmost silence ; the servants went about 
as if shod with list. 


2i2 A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING. 


Dr. Gracie had not been home since his abrupt summons 
to the house two days before. He went now for a very 
brief space, leaving a charge with Miss Margery, to preserve 
the silence he had imposed, as she valued life, and more 
than life. 

“I tell you, Miss Margery,” he said, “if by any chance 
that girl is waked before nature wakes her, it is all over with 
her. I wouldn’t give that,” with a snap of his fingers, 
“for her chance — life or reason, one would have to go by 
the board.” 

It was a dreary house. The doctor’s daughter, now Mrs. 
Ashley, came over the evening of Mrs. Everleigh’s death, 
and she and Elise prepared the poor lady for the grave. 

All the night after her mother’s death Vashti lay like a 
person in a syncope, to all appearance. The day and night 
following, it was much the same, though during the latter 
portion of the time she stirred a little. In the afternoon of 
the second day, as they were bearing away the dead, she 
opened her feeble eyes and looked with a bewildered air 
about her. 

Dr. Gracie was at hand, but as her wondering glance fell 
on him she only shivered a little as at some vague recollec- 
tion that had saddened her, and turned her face on the pil- 
low away from him, rubbing her forehead slowly with her 
slender fingers, and occasionally half rising and looking 
about her with strange eyes, as though she was trying to re- 
member where she was, and sighing deeply. Finally, 
reaching the curtains of the window near her bed, she 
pulled it aside and looked out. 

This window commanded a view of the Everleigh burial 
ground in the distance. It lay this afternoon, half in the 
shadow half in the sun, and the funeral procession was 
just winding its solemn, slow way, among the tombs. 


A WOLE IN SHEEP S CLOTHING, 


213 


Vashti looked, as they are wont to look, who look their 
last upon a dearest friend — looked till a mist of blessed 
tears gathered over her aching eyes, and she fell back upon 
her pillow weeping — weeping as she had never wept before. 

“ Thank God,” said Dr. Gracie to himself, as he went 
silently, and on tiptoe, from the room, to pace gently to and 
fro in the passage, and going now and then to Vashti's 
door, to cautiously look at her. 

Returning from that sorrowful grave, Margery Gresham 
and Nora immediately sought news from Vashti. 

“ Saved,” said the kind-hearted physician, meeting them, 
and Nora went, with his permission, in to see her sister. 
Margery did not offer to do so, but she was none the less 
thankful, that this blow had been averted. 

Vashti was saved. Dr. Gracie said, but it was long before 
she came out of her room. She was reluctant to leave it, 
apparently very much prostrated in body, mind, and heart. 

It was in vain that Nora pleaded : 

“Come out and walk with me under the trees, sister, 
the air will do you good. ” 

She only turned her head on the pillow away from Nora's 
kind eyes, and put her loving hands away, with an almost 
impatient movement. 

Meanwhile Frank, mending rapidly, when he once be- 
gan to mend, had been told of his sad bereavement, and 
bore it much better than they had hoped. He was 
soon down stairs again, owing his rapid convalescence, he 
said, and Dr. Gracie, too, to the attention of Professor 
Thorpe, to whom he seemed to have taken a wonderful 
fancy. 

“Supposing you go and see Vashti, professor,” Frank 
said to him, one day, as he came from a visit to his sister. 
“I believe she needs society — something to distract her 


214 A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING. 


thoughts, and take that woe-begone look out of her face. 
What do you say — will you go ?” 

“Did I ever tell you, Frank, that I knew your sister 
years ago ?” 

“No !” with a profoundly-astonished look. 

“Well, I did. I was Professor of Languages at Laurel 
Hill while she attended school there. I knew her again 
the moment I saw her.” 

“That is just the thing; you can go in on the score of 
old acquaintance. Come, now, you've such a way with 
you, who knows what may come of it ?” 

Professor Thorpe deliberated about two minutes, and an- 
nounced his willingness to make the experiment 

The faintest possible flush came into Vashti’s pale face as 
he entered. He went up to her, and, taking the hand she 
had not extended to him, pressed it kindly. She turned 
her face away from him; but from where he stood he could 
see her closed eyes, and the tears forcing themselves 
through the inky lashes, and falling one by one upon the 
pillow. He made his call a short one this time ; but the 
next day he came again, and staid longer, talking, not to 
Vashti, but Nora, and noticing with a knitting of his heavy 
brows that she gave neither word nor sign of being con- 
scious of his presence. 

The next day he had purposed leaving Everleigh, but he 
very gravely announced to Frank that he should remain till 
he saw some change in his whilom pupil, and at his usual 
hour he made his appearance in Vashti’s room. She had 
got so that when she heard him coming, she invariably 
turned her face away from the door, and did not look to- 
ward him while he staid. 

He lifted her passive hand with his usual kindly pres- 
sure, and sat down near the bed. 


A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 


215 


Nora, sitting a few steps away, looked almost dismayed 
when he took from his pocket a book, and, having first 
asked permission, began to read without waiting for it to 
be given. 

His selection was from Cowper — one of the saddest, 
most despairing plaints that he wrote in that memorable, 
despondent state when he suddenly discovered himself 
without God in the world. Thorpe read it with an expres- 
sion that made each word a wail. As he closed the book, 
Vashti, half rising, cried almost passionately: 

“ What do you read that to me for? Cowper s pain is 
not to be compared to mine — a miserable, God-forsaken 
wretch from the hour of my birth — haunted by evil pas- 
sions, haunted and hunted down !” 

Nora left her seat and went and stood by her sister, put- 
ting her hand on her hand, with tears in the brown eyes 
she lifted to Vashti's face. 

Vashti flung her hand off, and, still supporting herself 
on her elbow, said, bitterly: 

“Oh, don't pity me — I don't want to be pitied ! Hate 
me rather than pity me. " 

‘ ‘ Oh, sister, sister ! don't treat me so ; it breaks my 
heart. I love you and sympathize with you. Are we not 
both of the same blood ?" said Nora, clasping her hands, 
and with tears raining down her cheeks. 

‘ 4 Sympathize, indeed ! you ! Look at her, Professor 
Thorpe, the bonny, pure-faced, brown-eyed thing, to talk 
of sympathy for a fiery creature like me ! Stand away, 
Nora ; to touch me would defile you. " 

She spoke even more bitterly than before, and her short, 
upper lip curled with interisest scorn. 

Professor Thorpe was surveying her with a painful sem- 


216 A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CIOTHIAG . 


blance of that old, quiet smile of his — painful because it 
was tinged now with sarcasm, moroseness. 

That smile of his stirred Vashti to passionate resentment, 
and placing her foot on the floor with a firmness she had 
seemed little capable of before, she said to Nora, who 
was drying her eyes and resolutely trying to drive back her 
tears : 

“ You and I are of the same name, but there is not an- 
other single point of resemblance between us. Don’t pre- 
tend to sympathize with me, then — nobody can do that — 
nobody ever carried through life the betrayed spirit I have. 
I don’t say that anybody is to blame but myself; but does 
that make it any better? Isn’t it as bad to betray one’s self 
as to have others do it for one ? Don’t pity me, Lenore ; 
it is the one drop too much. I feel tempted as Job was, to 
curse God and die.” 

Professor Thorpe was standing at a window, with his back 
to her and Nora. 

4 ‘ Speak to her,” Nora whispered, going up to him; 
“she will hear you, but she won’t hear me. Tell her this 
blind, hostile spirit of hers is not putting herself in His 
hands who made her for good and not for evil. Will you 
tell her, sir?” 

“I can’t ” He shrunk away from her pure, earnest 

eyes, fearing to speak what was on his lips; but, in a mo- 
ment, chiding himself for what he was pleased to call to 
himself a sort of moral cowardice, he added: “I can’t 
for I don’t believe it myself, Lenore. ” 

He looked down at her with a grave, sad smile, and a 
look in his deep azure eyes, that all his bravery could not 
make strong or in the least courageous, in the face of that 
startled expression that came out of Nora’s brown eyes. 

“Do you mean, sir, that you don’t believe ” She 


A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING. 


217 


was quite at a loss how to finish the sentence — how to un- 
derstand him. 

He bowed, without any smile this time, with even a 
faintly clouded visage, saying : 

“That is just it, Miss Nora; I don't believe it myself. ” 

And presently he went away out of the room without am 
other word. 

Nora looked at her sister with a deep, involuntary sigh. 
She had not stirred as Professor Thorpe left the room ; she 
seemed buried in unhappy thought. Nora shrank pain- 
fully from the fierce retorts so peculiar to her sister when 
she addressed her, but feeling that she could not suffer the 
moment so pregnant with warning to pass unimproved, she 
said, sadly, and with gentle firmness : 

“I must tell you, Vashti, that the great Father of Om- 
nipotence cannot mold you to His purpose unless you yield 
yourself to him. ” 

Vashti lifted her dark, haughty gaze to Nora's face, look- 
ing at her silently some moments. 

But the feverish excitement that had lately possessed her 
was by this time quite gone, and with a more weary, de- 
spairing expression than ever, she crept back upon her 
bed, and turning her face to the wall, refused to answer 
anything. 

The following day, early in the morning, Professor 
Thorpe rapped at Vashti's door. Nora opened it for him. 

‘ ‘ I want your invalid for a walk, " he said, looking be- 
yond her to Vashti. 

“Oh, sir, if you could coax her out " 

“Are you not afraid to trust her with me, after what I said 
to you yesterday ?" he said, in a low voice, and with an at- 
tempt at lightness. 

“No, sir," she answered, bravely. “A man who could 


2 1 8 A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 

read 'The Castaways/ as you did yesterday, must feel it 
May you anchor where poor Cowper did, sir. ” 

He flashed a look at her both curious and startled, and 
passing her, entered the room. 

Vashti was sitting in a low arm-chair near the window, 
for the first time in many days. 

"So you are better already/' he said, with a tone of 
slight raillery. "I knew that dose of excitement I gave 
you yesterday would do you good. Isn't this morning air 
tempting? Isn't the scent of those roses delicious ? Come 
out with me a step or two. " 

He took a shawl from Nora's hand as he spoke and stood 
waiting for Vashti to rise, which, greatly to Nora's delighted 
surprise, she did. 

Professor Thorpe threw the shawl round her shoulders, 
put her bonnet on with his own hands, and drawing her 
hand within his arm with an irresistible air of authority, 
led her out into the fragrance of the early morning. 

Nora followed soon, with uncovered head and radiant 
face. 

What they talked of, Vashti could not have told an hour 
after. The professor talked most indeed to Nora, but she 
enjoyed it more than she could have believed possible, and 
could hardly credit her sister's smiling assertion that they 
had been out an hour, when she found herself wiled in at 
the great door, and seated in the sitting-room, instead of 
her own apartment. 

Frank was already there, and became boisterously gay on 
seeing his sister. 

"Where is Miss Dale?" Vashti presently asked. 

‘ ‘ In her own room, " Nora answered. ‘ ‘ She has scarcely 
left it in a long time, except for her meals, and those she 
takes in the servants' hall instead of the dining-room. " 


A WOLF IN SHEEP 'S CLOTHING. 


219 


“In the servants' hall? Why should she do that?" said 
Vashti, looking more like herself than before in weeks, 
"I trust you did not make her unwelcome in the dining- 
room ?” 

“I had no opportunity to do so,” said Nora, quietly, 
though inwardly nettled at the censure implied in her 
sisters words. “ She has never once entered the dining- 
room since — since mamma's death, " she was about to say, 
but she changed it to “ since Professor Thorpe has been 
here, though I have myself asked her to do so several 
times. I am incapable of treating any, even pretended 
friends of our family, in a rude manner." 

Nora was sorry the next instant that that she had suffered 
herself to say “ pretended friends." Vashti's cheeks flushed 
warmly, and she said to Professor Thorpe : 

“The very best friend I ever had, sir, Miss Dale is. 
You have met her, I hope, somewhere else, if not in the 
dining-room ?" 

“Miss Dale — Miss Dale," said Thorpe, half to himself ; 
it seems to me I have heard the name before, but I have 
not met the lady here ; no. " 

“She is one of Vashti's pets,” said Frank, in a rather 
equivocal tone ; “no favorite of mine or Nora's however. 
Don't be vexed Vashti, but really the woman is a decided 
nuisance. One can’t help their likes and dislikes," he 
added, apologetically, as his sister's face flushed still deeper 
with displeasure. 

Frank had never particularly liked or disliked Miss Dale 
till lately, when a conversation with Nora regarding “poor 
mamma," and Miss Dale's influence over her, had some- 
what opened his eyes. 

Miss Dale, too, it had been discovered, was in possession 
of a very singular document, signed by Mrs. Everleigh — 


220 A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 


something in the nature of a will, though not in legal 
form, and unattested by witnesses. It conveyed, so far as 
it could, a large portion of Mrs. Everleigh’s personal 
property — the dower which she had brought to her hus- 
band — to her dear and esteemed friend, Miss Dale, and 
commended that lady, in the most affectionate terms, to 
her children. 

In the light of the sad story which Nora told of Mrs. 
Everleigh’s subjection — for it was nothing less — to her 
demonstrative and aspiring companion, this document 
seemed to be the wages for which Miss Dale had exerted 
herself ; and of the manner in which she had obtained the 
poor lady’s signature to this highly original document, 
Elise, fortunately, was able to testify, which she did in 
most moving terms. 

‘ ‘ I was sweeping in the passage, ” she said, ‘ ‘ that leads 
from the mistress’ room to Miss Dale’s. I had only just 
come there, and it was nearly dark. I had forgotten it 
earlier in the day, and as I came into the passage from the 
hall, Miss Dale ran through from the mistress’ room to 
her own and back again, in so big a hurry that she didn’t 
see me at all, standing there in the dark. In her hurry 
she left the door a little ajar, and in a moment I heard the 
mistress say, in a sad voice, down-hearted like : 

“ 4 Wouldn’t it be better, Miss Dale, to wait and tell the 
children ? I am sure they would do it just as much for 
my asking. ’ 

“ 'Oh, very well, very well,’ said Miss Dale, in a very 
different voice from the one I had always heard her use to 
the mistress ; ‘ if you grudge me a small affair like that 
for my faithful services, let it go. It won’t be much mat- 
ter if I do starve. Such an ungrateful world as this is, 
though !’ 


A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 


221 


“The mistress said something in reply that I could not 
catch the meaning of ; she seemed to be crying. Miss 
Dale answered her in the same cross voice : 

“ ‘There, don’t go and worry yourself sick. Now, I'm 
sure I haven't slept for a week, for waiting on you with that 
last spell. If you don't want to sign it, say so, and I'll burn 
the thing up. As I've said a great many times, I made up 
my mind long ago, that I should probably die so poor I 
should have to be buried at the public expense.' 

“ ‘If it would relieve you so much,' I heard the mistress 
say, ‘ I will sign it. I can't write all that, though — I'm 
too sick to do it. ' 

“ Tt isn't worth a straw, if it is not in your writing,' I 
heard Miss Dale say ; then followed a good deal of low talk 
that I couldn't hear, but I could tell from Miss Dale's voice, 
that she wasn't in a pleasant way, and pretty soon I heard 
the pen scratching on the paper, and creeping up to the 
door, I could see the mistress writing and looking quite out 
of heart, while Miss Dale read to her from a paper she had 
in her hand. Miss Dale came pretty soon and shut the 
door, and do what I would, I couldn't hear another word. 
I went away pretty soon, and was very unhappy about what 
I had heard, but I didn't at all know what to do about it, 
and I tried to forget what I thought could do nobody any 
good to know, till I heard that Miss Dale pretended she had 
a will ; and when I came to hear what was in it, I knew it 
was the very same thing I had overheard them talking about, 
for I recognized some of the words, and it made me feel so 
badly, I thought I must come and tell you, Mister Frank." 

Frank with difficulty held still till she finished her pain- 
ful recital, he was in such a towering passion. After his 
usual boisterous style, he swore roundly that he would pay 
tha<- vile creature, Miss Dale, the sum she claimed, and 


222 A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 


kick her out of doors. No doubt the hot-headed young 
fellow would have proceeded to carry out his threat in the 
most liberal manner, had not Nora interposed, and by re- 
minding him who had lain a corpse in the house so short a 
time before, cooled his wrath somewhat, and saved him 
from so disgraceful a proceeding. 

Miss Dale had been paid the sum she claimed, to the 
uttermost farthing, and had been notified that the sooner 
she left Everleigh, the better its inmates would be satisfied ; 
and still she remained. 

This it was that had embittered the minds of Nora and 
Frank toward Miss Dale, that neither found it possible to 
speak of her, save in the manner they had done, in reply 
to Vashti's inquiries after her. Both, however, when they 
saw how excited she grew in her feeble state over it, en- 
deavored to make their apologies, and place matters on the 
smooth footing they were before this unfortunate conversa- 
tion came up. 

Vashti, however, was suddenly silent, and sat looking 
gloomily before her, lost in what looked very like a sullen 
train of thought. 

Suddenly, some one passed along the corridor. By the 
sweep of her draperies, and the mincing grace of her step, 
k was the very one they had been speaking of — Miss Dale. 

With a half defiant glance at Frank and Nora, Vashti 
called out, “Miss Dale,” and following her, brought the— 
it must be confessed — rather reluctant lady in, to be intro- 
duced to Professor Thorpe. 

The professor looked both curious and amused at this 
abrupt proceeding, and Frank with a muttered something, 
that sounded very like an oath, went straight out of the 
room. Nora did not like to vex her sister, but she could 
not bring herself to be willing to remain, in her present 


A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 


223 


state of feeling, in the same room with this woman, and she 
accordingly followed Frank's example, in a more quiet and 
decorous manner, however. 

The professor, meanwhile, paying the courtesies of the 
day to Miss Dale, who, assured, was all flash and glitter, 
grew graver and graver as he talked, preoccupied with some 
inward thought, till Miss Dale, constrained in spite of her- 
self, under his searching eye, directed her efforts at conver- 
sation more especially to Vashti. 

He broke in on the not over brilliant chat with : 

“I think I have seen you before, Miss Dale ” 

“Indeed sir?" she began, bridling. “I don't remember 
ever meeting you before," 

“But you have," he said, decidedly, rising, and standing 
tall before her. “I remember you perfectly now. I have a 
great memory for faces and names, momentarily backward 
sometimes, but I can depend upon it entirely, when it does 
speak. " 

Miss Dale bridled and smiled again, and was silent. 

“I saw you," he continued, “it must be ten — twelve 
years ago — at Newbury, at a party. You will remember 
the evening by an accident that occurred, that came near 
proving fatal to a lady of the party — yourself. By some 
means, in the jostle of a rather rough game, you were 
thrown from your feet into the midst of a great furnace of a 
fire-place. Fortunately you were snatched from the flames, 
badly frightened, and some burned, not dangerously, owing 
to the woolen fabric of your dress." 

She smilingly assented to the account of the grave pro- 
fessor, and was already opening her lips for a voluble re- 
cital of that thrilling episode to which he had referred, when 
he continued : 


224 A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 


“Some months after, while I was studying with the Rev. 
Mr. Hibbins, at Crawford ” 

He paused a little, for Miss Dale had risen from her seat 
with the most sudden and wild confusion. He said, 
sternly : 

“Sit down, madam. I am resolved that you shall hear 
me out in the presence of this young lady, whose confidence 
you have abused. Sit down, ” he repeated, as she was con- 
tinuing her flight, “or I will call Francis Everleigh ; you 
know very well what consideration you have reason to 
expect from him/' 

She sat down near the door, looking sullen but cowed, 
and he continued : 9 

• ‘ One evening, as I was saying, a pair came to the Rev. 
Mr. Hibbins, where I was, to be married — a runaway 
couple they were, no doubt — young, interesting, etc. I 
was in the next room, and kept myself out of sight, for I 
recognized you ; and, as sure as I am standing here, I saw 
you take another name, by a legal ceremony of marriage, a 
name that you do not go by now. Pray, madam, are you 
divorced, or a widow, or had your handsome lover already 
a wife when he married you ?” 

Miss Dale started to her feet again, but at a significant 
gesture from Thorpe, sat down again, while Yashti, unable 
to comprehend the meaning of this unaccountable scene, 
looked from one to the other in vague and uneasy dread. 

“ Perhaps you can tell me, madam/' Thorpe continued, 
with dry, sarcastic utterance, “whether a gentleman I had 
the pleasure of meeting a few weeks since, was or was not 
a party in the marriage ceremony just mentioned? I 
thought his handsome, villainous face looked singularly 
familiar, but I could not think where I had met him till 
after I had left him ” 


A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING, 


225 


Miss Dale started up with an impetuous movement. 

“I will not be tortured piecemeal, ” she said, “as 
though I was a criminal. I have done no crime, and I 
will not be treated as if I had. I have a right to take 
what name I please, and I won’t be made responsible for 
the misdeeds of others ” 

He glanced significantly from her to Vashti, who was 
devouring her with lurid eyes. 

The ex-governess gave a nervous toss of her head as her 
eye followed his, and she jerked out rather than spoke : 

“Percy Dascomb is my husband — there! Make the 
most of it. ” 

With a passionate cry, Vashti sprang to her feet. 

“Have vou lied to me all this time? Have you, 
wretched creature, have you lied to me ?” 

“Iam his wife,” the woman said, cowering, but with 
an accent of mingled pride and relief that the tale was 
told, and he and Vashti forever severed. ‘ f I am his 
wife.” 

The passionate girl made a movement as though she 
would have struck her, and then, with a stamp of her proud 
foot, she said : 

‘ f God may forgive you, but I never can ! Leave me 
while I retain my senses. Let me never put my eyes upon 
you again, vilest of all vile wretches upon the face of the 
earth !” 

Mistress Percy Dascomb needed no second telling.' She 
took herself out of the presence of the outraged and in- 
dignant girl with all the expedition she was mistress of. 

Vashti dashed two or three hot tears from her proud 
eyes, saying, as she took up a vehement march about 
the room : 

“Could any one expect me to be other than I am, with 


226 A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 


a serpent like that gnawing at my vitals ? How I trusted 
that woman ! Professor Thorpe, I believed in that creature, 
and her influence over me has been diabolical. Will you 
ring the bell, sir?” and to the servant who answered it, 
she said : 

4 ‘See if Miss Margery Gresham is in her own apart- 
ments, and ask if she will permit me to see her a few 
moments. ” 

While the servant was gone, she continued her excited 
pace to and fro, murmuring disjointedly, pausing now and 
then for a curt word or two to Professor Thorpe, who, 
making her no verbal reply, stood with his elbow on the 
top of a high-backed chair, watching her with the very 
expression in his deep eyes that had so aggravated her the 
day before. 

“ Miss Margery will see you now, Miss Vashti,” said the 
servant at the door. 

She swept him a formal courtesy, and with her slow, 
graceful step, left the room. 

Margery Gresham did not pretend to conceal her sur- 
prise at this call from Vashti, whom she had scarcely 
spoken with since before Mrs. Everleigh’s death. 

“I have come,” Vashti 'said, abruptly, remaining by the 
door, with her hand on the latch; “ I have come to ask 
your pardon for my treatment of you in that affair about 
Dascomb. You were right, Miss Gresham, and I was 
wrong. Miss Dale is Percy Dascomb’s wife ! Mean, 
pitiful liars, both of them. I ask your pardon, madam, 
and I thank you for your efforts to ssve me from becoming 
the betrayed and disgraced creature I should now be but 
for the thunderbolt that broke my mother’s heart. ” 

It was the first time Vashti had alluded to her mother 
since her death. Standing there, with a haughty air that 


A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 


227 


seemed to demand rather than crave pardon, this reference 
to her mother, that had, as it were, forced itself from her 
lips, melted her to such touching softness of demeanor, 
that Miss Margery, with that fresh grief lacerating her own 
heart, took a step toward the girl, with outstretched hands, 
saying : 

“ For the sake of that mother, who loved me and whom 
I loved, Vashti, let us be friends. Call me Aunt Margery, 
as you used to do. ” 

4 ‘Heaven forbid!'’ ejaculated Vashti, recoiling close to 
the wall from her. “My father stands between us. You 
and I friends? No, no.” 

Margery Gresham’s extended hands dropped to her side, 
and she looked at Vashti with a white cheek and dumb 
horror in her eyes. Faltering away from her, she sat down, 
leaning her head upon her hand in gloomy thought. 

The latch clicked — Vashti was going out. 

“Vashti,” she said, in so changed a voice that the girl 
started, “come back to me and tell me all, and what you 
mean. Why should your father, of all others, stand be- 
tween us?” 

Vashti stood a moment in the door, trembling so that 
she could hardly stand, and then coming into the room, 
closed the door, and supporting herself by a chair, said, 
with a face like a corpse : 

“I have been told, Margery Gresham, that my father did 
not die as others do. I know he did not. I can remem- 
ber the mystery that surrounded his death-bed, the un- 
seemly haste with which he was put in his grave. Tell 
me, how did my father die — by his own hand ?” 

“No.” 

“How, then?” 

Shaking as with a palsy, Vashti, unable to stand, slipped 


228 A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING. 


to her knees, and leaned her crossed arms upon the seat of 
a chair. 

"How then? How then?” Margery Gresham repeated, 
in a sort of appalled maze. "Vashti Everleigh, what do 
you mean? Tell me, in so many words, what do you 
mean ?” 

"If my father did not shorten his own life, who did? 
Margery Gresham, you know who did, I know — almost I 
know. It is for that reason my lips never touch your hand 
nor your cheek — for that reason my heart recoils from the 
thought, the very thought of you. Don’t tell me you did 
it at his bidding. The pallor of your face, the horror in 
your eye, tell me that you are a conscious-stricken woman. 
Some dark mystery lies back of all I know on this terrible 
subject. Tell me what it is — you only can do it.” 

The pallor of Margery Gresham’s face was indeed fright- 
ful, and she only said, with the same appalled look as be- 
fore : 

"When you are quite well and calm enough to bear to 
hear what I have to say, I will tell you — not now. I have 
borne mountain-weights of sorrow in this unhappy house — 
I can bear even this.” 

The girl’s white lips opened to speak ; but bringing her 
hand down with fierce emphasis upon the table at which 
she sat, Margery said : 

"As I live, I will tell you nothing now. Do you think 
I would endure to know that you cast this foul suspicion 
on me, and not say one word to exonerate or defend my- 
self, if my reasons for being silent were not powerful ones? 
No, I will not tell you now. Get you away to your room, 
and carry your evil thoughts with you. I have borne 
much from you before now — I will show you how I can 
bear this.” 


A WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 229 


The passion in Miss Gresham's tone producing a coun- 
ter excitement in Vashtis mind, calmed her almost in- 
stantly. She rose from her knees and sat down. 

“I will not go from this room," she said, “till I have 
freed my mind on one other point. You are fond of say- 
ing that you have borne a great deal from me — of making 
bitter allusions to my fierce temper, and that of others. 
You are fond of saying that you have devoted yourself to 
our family. Perhaps you have ; but let me tell you, if so, 
that you have worse than thrown yourself away. You have 
been the combustible that has fed the flame. You have 
never, to my knowledge, delivered to one of us a single re- 
buke upon this subject of temper, but that you have shown 
yourself, at least, quite as angry as we were. We never had 
faith in you, for we saw, or thought we saw, that your re- 
proofs were mere outbursts of a spirit vexed and stormy as 
our own. You took upon you this task of redeeming us 
Everleighs from this sin that does so easily beset us with a 
bitter heart, Margery Gresham. You carried out a bitter 
theory in a bitter way, and behold the fruits — bitter ; your 
reward is — ashes!" 

Margery Gresham sat without a word. For the first time 
in all their two lives her eyes fell before Vashti's. She had 
not a word to say for herself. This charge she could 
not answer more than the other ; and her eyes wavered, for 
she began to see vaguely, as in a dream, herself — to suspect, 
in the light of that strong language, that she, the stern, self- 
reliant woman, had been — mistaken, 


230 


RE VELA TI0NS-. DESPAIR. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

REVELATION S D E S P A I R . 

Vashti left Miss Gresham’s room with an unfaltering step, 
and having sent for Pete, the coachman, gave him orders to 
have the carriage immediately put in readiness for a trip to 
Hart Corners. Then summoning Elise, she gave into her 
hand a special commission to be served instantly “on her 
you call Miss Dale, Elise. She is Mr. Dascomb’s wife. I 
want her out of the house. I cannot even be courteous to 
her if she continues here longer than is absolutely necessary. 
Say to her, respectfully, of course, that the carriage waits to 
take her to Hart Corners ; and stick to her, Elise, till you 
get her out of the house. I will not answer for myself if 
I ever put eyes on her again. I shall go to my room for 
two hours, that I may avoid meeting her. At the expira- 
tion of that time I expect you to have started her on her 
journey — anywhere away from here, bag and baggage. 
Stay — do you know if she has any wages due her? I would 
not send her off unpaid. ” 

“Not a cent, dear miss. Mister Frank, I know, paid 
her, and gave her to understand pretty plain that the sooner 
she went the better for all parties concerned. ” 

“Indeed. How long have you all known the disgrace- 
ful truth regarding this affair?” 

“I never knew it before you told me, miss. It was not 
for that Mr. Frank wanted her to go. It was another trick 
o’ hers he found out. I dare say there’s plenty we never 
shall know anything about.” 

“Another trick, Elise, what pray?” 

Elise hesitated, but knowing her young mistress’ imperi- 
ous disposition, said : 


REVELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


231 

“She just claimed the biggest part of the money your 
mother brought to your father when she married him. 
That is what it was, and enough, too ; and she had no 
more right to it than I, either. Mister Frank paid her 
every cent, though. ” 

“But, Elise, I don’t understand; how could she claim 
this money ?" 

“She pretended she had a will, miss. Mr. Professor — 
the gentleman that has done us such a good turn here — 
said it wasn't worth anything in law, though it was in your 
mothers writing, but Mister Frank said the money was 
nothing — he'd give her twice as much, if she'd only clear 
out. Of course he knew best, miss, but I wouldn’t have 
paid her a cent. The mistress never would have written 
that will, if she'd a known her as well as the rest of us 
does." 

“That will do, Elise," said Vashti, compressing her lips, 
“go and do what I told you; get the creature out of the 
house," and she turned away from the attached servant. 

In her own room an hour after, Elise brought her a let- 
ter, saying that the quondam Miss Dale had gone, and had 
bidden her give this into Vashti's own hands. Opening it 
like one in a dream, Vashti read : 

“Vashti, I have been the firebrand at Everleigh that it 
was my ambition to be, for I hated you all — you first, be- 
cause you were conceited, imperious, and disagreeable — and 
afterward, because you came between me and the man that 
I loved as you are quite incapable of doing. It was our 
plan to have you become his wife, and when he had ob^ 
tained your portion as an Everleigh heiress — to take it, and 
flee the country, leaving you dishonored, to creep back to 
the proud gates of your home, a creature that I should not 
have envied ! The plan failed, but I never was sorry, for I 


2p 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


was madly afraid that Percy might love you. Besides, by 
its failure, and by reason of my accession to such a snug 
little fortune as your mother left me, and your brother paid 
over to the utmost farthing, I have quite the upper hand of 
my dear Percy. I go to his arms. But before I leave, I 
cannot resist the temptation of a parting word — something 
in the way of a bequest to you all, for your kindness to me 
while under this roof. 

“I have not lived here all this time without fathoming 
every secret of the dreary old place. Tell Margery Gresh- 
am I know the specter that haunts the Hermitage. I have 
seen the horrid, limbless trunk crawl, and I know why it 
' wanders there. 

“Margery Gresham murdered your father! Let her 
deny it it she dare. I have hinted this to you before, and 
it is the truth. She loved him before he married your 
mother, and to revenge herself for that she killed him, and, 
as if that were not enough she remained at Everleigh to 
make his children’s lives as unhappy as she made his before 
he died. But for her he would never have raised his gun 
upon Neil Roque ; she knew that the man was not dead, 
and that her victim would not meet with hanging if he 
lived. She made the matter sure with her own hand, Doc- 
tor Gracie being prime assistant and conspirator. ” 

And so on several more pages, but Vashti had read 
enough. She did not faint — she was not of that sort — but 
she sat down upon the bed, wondering if there was another 
§o miserable a wretch on the face of the earth, wondering 
if death was worse than the angry pain that seemed to snap 
her heart asunder. 

Taking that terrible letter up again, her eyes fell upon 
this passage, at its close : 

“In the fullness of time, when it suits me so to do, I 


REVELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


233 


shall send the officers of justice to Everleigh. I retain my 
proofs of what I have told you.” 

She dropped it as though it had been fire, mumuring to 
herself : 

“ A heartless letter — a cruel, cruel letter ! How could I 
ever have loved and trusted a being capable of wringing my 
heart so pitilessly?” 

“ Sister, won't you come and have dinner with us to- 
day?” said Nora, putting her head into the room. 

“No ; food would choke me,” said Vashti, gloomily. 

Nora glanced from her sisters ominous countenance to 
that wide-open letter, sighing involuntarily, and was leav- 
ing the room, when Vashti called after her : 

“Will Miss Gresham be down to dinner?” 

“I think not. Elise just told me she thought not. She 
is not well.” 

“And no wonder. I will go to her this moment — this 
instant. She shall see that I can be calm, even under these 
circumstances. ” 

“What is it, Vashti? Please, please, sister, tell me!” 
cried Nora, anxiously, as her sister gathered up that terrible 
letter, crumpling it fiercely in her nervous grasp. 

“Nothing to you — nothing; it is only that the woman 
you deem a saint has a hand that is red with the blood of 
an Everleigh. Out of my way — let me go to her this in- 
stant, I say !” 

“Oh, Vashti, are you mad? Sister! sister! as God 
is truth, I believe it an infamous lie ! That false woman 
has told you — she has lied to you !” and as her sister strug- 
gled to get away from her frantic clasp, she cried : “You 
will repent it, Vashti — you will live to repent it in dust and 
ashes — if you go to Aunt Margery in the state you are in 
now, I will not let you go. You shall not break the 


23 4 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


heart of the noble woman who would die for us. Frank! 
Frank ! Fr-a-n-k ” 

Vashti burst away from her, tore away down the hall, 
up the stairs, and into Margery Gresham’s room ; while 
Nora, dropping upon her knees, with her face to the floor, 
sobbed uncontrollably. 

“There, madam, there !” cried the reckless and passion- 
ate Vashti, thrusting Mrs. Dascomb’s letter into the face 
and very eyes of the ghastly-visaged and astounded woman, 
who rose from the bed upon which she had been lying ; 
“read that, and see that I know your wickedness — your 
crime ! Confess, that I may thrust you forth as I would 
the dog that bit me !” 

She looked an incarnation of fury — her eyes blazing, her 
face purple, and her wild hands beating the air. 

Margery Gresham met her with undaunted gaze, while 
her heart seemed to fall dead within her. 

“Vashti,” she began, with unshaken voice. 

“ Don’t talk to me ! I’m not calm ; I don’t want to be 
calm again, ever. I wish I could die. Oh ! woman, 
woman, will not your reckoning be a fearful one ?” 

Miss Gresham had silently, and with her fearless eye on 
the almost maddened girl, approached the bell-rope. With 
the utmost apparent composure she touched it, rung it 
again and again. Presently steps were heard approaching. 

Vashti was walking the room now, a fierce and hurried 
walk, broken in upon by bitter appeals to Miss Gresham, 
who, to soothe her, had opened Mrs. Dascomb’s letter and 
was pretending to read it. 

Pretending ? As much whiter than before as it could 
get grew Miss Gresham’s ghastly face as she read, without 
any pretense about it. 

Francis Everleigh and Professor Thorpe came into the 


REVELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


*35 


room together ; Philip followed them, with his son Hu- 
bert. That peculiar summons upon the bell had been 
for him. 

Margery Gresham just lifted her eyes from the paper in 
her hand to scan the excited and evidently anxious group. 

“Nora is not here/' she said. “ Hubert, go for her." 

The young man left the room without a word. 

“Philip," she continued, in the same stern voice, “go 
and bring hither the keys of the Hermitage." 

A wild cry broke from Vashti's lips. 

“ Don't take me there ! Oh, don't take me there !" 

She clung frantically to her brother, screaming : 

“Save me ! save me ! save me, Frank ! Don't take me 
there ! I will be calm ! I will, I will " 

Miss Gresham compressed her lips, without uttering a 
word. Francis Everleigh seemed suddenly stricken with 
the palsy. His knees shook under him, his face grew 
deathly white, and he staggered to a chair, unable to utter 
a syllable, or even support his sister. 

Thorpe threw his strong arms about her, and held 
her, while he looked into her face with his strong eyes, 
and said : 

“ Nothing shall harm you, Vashti ; nothing shall take 
you from my arm against your will. My darling, what is 
it you fear?" 

She clung to him, sobbing hysterically. 

“Don’t let them come near me. Philip is coming back 
— there, there — murder — m-u-r-d-e-r !" 

The servants were thronging in the hall. The screams 
of the terrified girl struck cold chills to the hearts of all 
who heard, and from lip to lip passed a terrible thought — a 
whispered sentence : 

“She is going mad 1" 


236 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


Vashti heard it, Professor Thorpe heard it, and said 
Sternly to Hubert, who was bringing Nora into the room : 

“ Drive that pack down stairs, the brutes !” and clasping 
Vashti closer, he said in her ear : 

“ You are safe with me — there is nothing to harm you — 
nothing. ” 

“I will be calm, sir; indeed, indeed I will. Don’t shut 
me up like a beast, though. See, how calm I am. Don’t 
touch me, Philip. Margery Gresham, I will kill you, if 
you come near me !” 

Philip and Margery had risen and taken a step toward 
her. They paused and looked in each other’s eyes aghast. 
Was this beautiful, proud young creature indeed mad? 

Nora Everleigh, pure-faced, brown-eyed Nora Everleigh, 
standing near her sister, with her bewildered glance taking 
in this frightful scene, pressed close to her, saying in tones 
of angelic love and soothing : 

“We all love you, Vashti. Don’t be afraid of us, sister. 
What is it you fear?” 

4 ‘ I am mad, you know, ” she whispered to Nora. ‘ ‘ Mar- 
gery Gresham wants to put me in the Hermitage. That is 
where they put us all, you know, when we get this way. ” 

Nora bravely kept all pain out of her eyes, as she said : 

“You are mistaken, sister; nobody wants to put you 
there. You are frightened now; but, listen to me, Vashti, 
you are only frightened. Look at me, Vashti ; my dear, 
dear sister. I have always, always told you the truth, 
haven’t I?” 

Vashti lifted her woe-begone, wild face, and looked at 
Nora. 

“My^ood angel,” she said. 

“Sister,” with both her young, earnest hands upon her 
neck, “you are weak and ill, nervous. You are not fit to 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR, 


237 


bear excitement ; and you have been seized with a panic of 
terror — that is all — you are as sane as I am ” 

“What did Margery Gresham want of the keys, then?” 
Vashti said, in the subdued tone of an unconvinced child. 

“What did you want of the keys, Aunt Margery?” said 
Nora* in her clear tones, her tender hands still upon Vashti's 
neck, and without turning her head. 

“I had been accused of a terrible crime,” Margery an- 
swered. “The proof of my innocence is in the Hermitage* 
It was to display that I sent for the keys.” 

“Margery, oh, Margery Gresham !” Vashti cried, break- 
ing from Thorpes arm, and throwing herself at Miss 
Gresham's feet, ‘ ‘ prove that, prove it, and I will kiss the 
dust from your feet. I shall go mad, mad, mad, if you 
leave me in this terrible darkness that hems my soul 
round. ” 

Miss Gresham was touched to her inmost heart. With a 
mixture of sternness and emotion, she lifted the trembling 
girl to her feet. 

“If I prove it to you,” she said, “it may be at a fearful 
cost to yourself. You are in a very excitable state, and, I 
am afraid, unable to bear reference to this unhappy affair 
>> 

“Miss Gresham, you mock me. I cannot, cannot bear 
this uncertainty of apprehension. I cannot live this way. 
I must know, I will know, all there is to know.” 

“Hubert, go and see if Dr. Gracie has come,” Margery 
said. ‘ 4 1 sent for him more than two hours ago. ” And, 
as the young man left the room, she continued to Vashti ; 
“If Dr. Gracie thinks it is safe to lay this matter before 
you, it shall be done.” 

The strange girl, still palpitating with excitement, but 
with that singular spasm of terror quite gone, turned away, 


238 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


pacing the room with folded arms and downcast eyes, as if 
unconscious of any other presence save her own. 

Frank had not spoken, but with his bowed head sat evi- 
dently very much shaken from his composure. 

Presently Hubert came in with Dr. Gracie, and in a few 
brief words Miss Gresham laid the state of the case before 
him. * 

His sharp, bright eye fastened itself upon Vashti’s 
face, while his firm, kindly fingers were on her wrist. She 
lifted her heavy eyes to his face when he asked her, but 
dropped them again immediately, saying : 

“It will be quite useless to pass sentence against me.” 

“So I see,” he said, with an expression of deep serious- 
ness, and to Margery Gresham, in a whisper: “As well 
now as any time. It is possible it may give her mind a 
turn. It will at least be a sort of negative relief to her ; 
nothing could be worse than the state she is in. She may 
bear it perfectly well, and the worst may happen ; there is 
no answering for a state of mind like that. We shall have 
to run the risk. ” 

Vashti had taken up her gloomy walk again as the good 
doctor dropped her hand; but at the first sound of Mar- 
gery Gresham’s voice she stopped, and her dark eyes never 
took themselves from the stern woman’s face while she 
spoke. 

“You know, Yashti, as well as I,” Margery said, “the 
whole of that dreary episode regarding Neil Roque. This 
letter” — striking it with the back of her hand — “this letter 
lies. We did suppose that Neil Roque was dead ; we 
could not possibly suspect anything else — nobody did. 

“The day that your father came home wounded, a mob 
followed him and filled the Everleigh grounds. The house 
was full of angry, disorderly soldiers, and when the law 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


239 


stepped in, it was not much better. The sheriff's officers 
were imperious and insulting. If your father had stood 
his trial he would undoubtedly have been hung. Child, 
be patient ; I must tell the story in my own way, and I 
will. 

“ Frank, sit down — I did not kill your father, though 
he begged us to do that, to save him from that ignomin- 
ious death. Doctor Gracie once lived some years in India. 
While there he became informed of the existence of a drug 
that, administered to a person in proper quantity, throws 
them into a state so nearly resembling death as to deceive 
a very critical observer. Your father took the drug. All 
who were not in the secret supposed him dead. We filled 
the coffin that had been ordered with stones, and buried it 
in the Everleigh burial-place, and in the dead of night re- 
moved the living but still unconscious man to a room in 
the Hermitage which we had had fitted up for him. He 
came to himself the third day. He was recovering from 
his wounds, and was intending to leave the country as soon 
as he was able, but in his impatience of his fate, and his 
remorse regarding the life he supposed he had taken, as he 
grew better in health, he became capricious in his temper, 
indulging in boisterous fits of passion, and moody and silent 
by turns. We had obtained a trusty attendant for him, 
a man who had known him from his boyhood, and loved 
him, who was without family, and willing to be immured 
with him as long as it was necessary. He took a most sin- 
gular and uncontrollable dislike to this man, and finally 
quarreled with him, giving such serious offense that we 
dared not let the man remain with him lest he should betray 
our secret. He was incapable of doing that, however, as 
after circumstances proved. About this time Doctor Gra- 
cie informed me that he was suspicious that this singular 


240 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


aversion to his attendant was a symptom of the malady 
that was said to be hereditary in his family. 

“Enough. Three months from the time of his sup- 
posed death we discovered that we had a raving madman 
on our hands. That is the specter that haunts the Her- 
mitage. ” 

Doctor Gracie and Professor Thorpe sprang to Vashti's 
side — she looked as if she was going to fall — but she 
spurned their outstretched hands, saying, with an unmoved 
voice, to Margery : 

“Why have we never been told this before ?” 

There was a very heavy fall beside her. Poor Frank had 
fainted. She looked at him pitifully as they lifted him to 
a bed, saying sadly : 

“Poor fellow! I never fainted in my life,” and then, 
with her dusky eyes again on Margery's face, she waited for 
her reply. 

“ Your mother was too ill to be told when we removed 
your father to the Hermitage, and when we became aware 
of the other feature of his case, we did not dare to tell her ; 
it would certainly have killed her. You, children, were 
too young to be told then, and afterward — it might have 
created such a scene as it would have been impossible to 
keep from your mother's knowledge. ” 

Dr. Gracie, leaving Nora and Professor Thorpe by Frank, 
who was just waking to life again, turned to Vashti. 

“ In the whole of this recital,” he said, “your aunt has 
quite left herself out. I must tell you — you must know — 
that in all that troublous time she was the sinew of our 
strength. We met with so many obstacles to our plans, 
it seemed like such a wild project, that we, Philip and I, 
should have been hopeless of success but for her. She 
took the burden of the affair upon her hands, and when 


REVELA TIONS—DESPAIR. 


241 


she knew that the malady of his house was about to over- 
take him, she vowed to devote herself to saving his chil- 
dren from his doom. I suspect that she had a hard time 
of it. Have you appreciated her, Vashti ?” Do you realize 
now that this woman ” 

Margery Gresham burst in upon him. 

“Not another word/' she said; “not another word. 
I)r. Grade, I meant to do, but, Heaven forgive me, I have 
not done. I said I would warn them, but I have done it 
in such a manner as to render my warning null. I ought 
to have known that I was not fit, of all others, to show 
them the rock upon which their father stranded.” She 
paused. Vashti was sternly silent. Nora, as she stood by 
Frank's side, lifted her aunt's cold hand and kissed it. 
Margery Gresham flung her arm about her, and drew her 
to her. “See, Vashti,” she said, eagerly, “she loves me. 
I have one here to love me.” 

“Because you loved her,” Vashti answered, shaking 
her head. 

“But I loved you, too, Vashti. Vashti, melt from your 
gloom, and say one kind word to me. ” 

Vashti looked in a dreary, half-bewildered manner 
about her. 

‘ ‘ I would say it if I could, I will say it if I can, but 
there is no atom of kindness left in me. I feel bitter 
toward the whole world. This moment there is not a 
creature I love in all the wide creation — for which I would 
lift my hand.” 

Margery Gresham did not seem the same woman, so 
greatly had the last few hours changed her. She crossed 
the room to Vashti, wringing her hands, and saying in a 
low voice, so hoarse with emotion that the rest did not 
hear her ; 


242 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


“Is it, then, all in vain, child — have I murdered your 
heart ? Oh ! I meant well ; I meant to save you. Vashti, 
do you hear ? I loved your father ; I loved him so much 
that I would have died by slow torture to save him from 
his fate. I loved him, and he loved me before he loved 
your mother. He married your mother, but I always 
loved him ; and when his sane self died, I wanted — oh ! 
Vashti, I yearned as a mother might, to save his children. 
Forgive me, Vashti, that I made such a terrible mistake — 
forgive me for my wasted life.” 

Vashti lifted her hands and laid them on Margery’s 
shoulders, while she said : 

“Such forgiveness as mine is you are welcome to, Aunt 
Margery. I suspect I need forgiveness myself very much. 
It is a queer, tangled mess to me, somehow. It seems to 
me life isn’t very much worth living for.” 

Her hands dropped to her sides, her eyes wandered 
dreamily over the room. The windows were wide open, 
and through them she could see the cool, fresh shadows 
of the graves beyond ; farther on still was the Everleigh 
burial-place — just where she caught the gleam of the white 
tombstones through the swaying leaves. 

Margery Gresham was weeping. Vashti turned to her. 

“Aunt Margery, I think I should like to see papa. I 
am going to see him now. Will you go with me ?” 

Miss Gresham looked aghast. 

“Not now, Vashti — not to-day.” 

“I am going now,” said Vashti, quietly, and as she 
spoke moved toward the door. 

“Oh, this must not, must not be !” Miss Gresham cried, 
following after her. “Dr. Grade, can’t you stop her?” 

“Go with her, Miss Margery — go, Philip ; as well try to 
Stop the upheaving of an earthquake — you can’t do it, 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


243 


What, Frank, poor fellow, are you going, too? and Nora? 
It’s a pitiful sight, my children. Come, Thorpe. ” 

Philip went first, and Vashti moved with languid grace 
just beside him. They threaded several passages, and came 
at last to the great ebon-hued door of the Hermitage. A 
large, strong door, sunk in the wall, and frowning gloomily 
upon them. 

Trembling, not so much with age as with sorrow and 
anxiety, the old man selected a ponderous key from a ring 
containing several smaller ones, and fitted it in the lock of 
the great door, but he was unable to turn it 

‘‘ Hubert/’ he said. 

The young man stepped forward, the heavy bolt shot- 
back, and the door swung slowly open on what seemed, at 
the first glance, a chasm of darkness. But it was only from 
contrast with the strong light they were leaving. 

They entered a long, wide hall, leading irregularly acros 
the building. On either hand as they passed along, they 
caught glimpses of great, echoing rooms, with ivy-mantled 
windows, and tattered draperies upon the walls. 

Pausing before a low, as it seemed, iron door, Hubert, 
taking the keys from his father’s hand, opened it. 

They found themselves now in what appeared like an 
ante-chamber. Beyond was another iron door, larger than 
the first, and latticed with iron bars in its middle portion. 

Margery Gresham pressed forward, looked once into the 
apartment beyond, and fell back with bowed head, mutely 
motioning the rest to look. 

It was a large, light apartment into which they looked — 
a circular room — high, airy, and lighted from above en- 
tirely. No windows appeared to relieve the monotony of 
those blank walls. 

A little at one side of the apartment was seated a man 


244 


REVELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


with white hair and a white beard, a kindly but vety 
thoughtful face, and a complexion like snow. He was 
seated at a table covered with books and papers, and seemed 
immersed in study. At his side, nearer the center of the 
room, on a pile of cushions, something lay in a heap — 
something that still had shape enough to chill with horror 
those hearts in the ante-chamber — something that looked 
like the remnant of a man. There was a pale, pinched 
face, with sunken, faded eyes, and thin gray locks 
about it ; there were two long, gaunt arms thrust into some 
sort of a loose garment, two thin white hands, locking and 
interlocking their fragile fingers, a great, overgrown body — 
and — and two dangling stumps in place of limbs. 

“He is quiet nowadays/' Dr. Gracie said. “He used 
to injure himself when he was violent, and in one of his 
maniac spells, he so nearly destroyed both his limbs that 
they had to be amputated." 

Frank looked once through the grating, and went stag- 
gering away, with his hand in Nora's. 

Even over Vashti's calm, collected face, swept a ghastlier 
pallor as she looked, and as the miserable shape upon the 
cushions, by chance lifted its faded, idiotic gaze to the 
grating where she stood,- and opening its shriveled jaws, 
gave utterance to a terrible cry, Vashti turned away at last, 
and left the room with unwavering step. The others fol- 
lowed quietly. 

As they crossed the threshold of the ebon-hued door, 
Vashti said, in her cold, clear tones : 

“And that is the inheritance an Everleigh leaves his 
children, is it, Aunt Margery? We have all got to come 
to that at last, Nora, Frank, and I ?" 

Margery caught at the wall for support, as she said with 


REVELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


245 


difficulty, but still distinctly, and with a certain solemn em- 
phasis : 

“Solemnly, I believe that if you, any of you go down to 
that fate, it will be your own fault. You have an indom- 
itable will ; turn its strength, like a hand of iron, upon the 
throat of the demon temper that possesses you, and save 
yourselves. ” 

Vashti shook her head, and with quickened step, leaving 
the party behind, went quietly away to her own room. 

They all gathered at the tea-table that evening, almost 
-as if afraid of the companionship of their own apartments ; 
Nora with her pure, pale, peaceful face, Margery Gresham 
with her silent, changed manner, and with a visible stoop 
in her stern form since morning. 

Professor Thorpe was affable, conversational, but evi- 
dently disturbed under it all. Doctor Gracie, lively, ten- 
der, companionable, cheered the table also with his pres- 
ence. Frank was boisterously, painfully gay. 

In the sitting-room, after a little, they all met again, 
save Doctor tirade. 

Vashti took her stand at the bay-window, which was open, 
looking forth into the starry summer night. She looked 
superbly beautiful to-night, and Professor Thorpe thought, 
as he came into the room a little before the rest, that she 
had never worn the singular attraction that circled her 
always with a more resistless air than now. 

He came in and advanced hurriedly toward her. 

“This is as it should be/' he said, eagerly, as he paused 
opposite her. “Vashti, I leave in the morning. After 
the word that incautiously fell from my lips to-day, and in 
spite of your stern avowal that there was not a creature upon 
the face of the earth for which you would lift your hand, 


246 


RE VELA TIONS— DESPAIR. 


I am still dotard enough to - venture to say to you, Vashti 
Everleigh, I love you. Vashti, will you be my wife ?" 

There was no flush in her cheek, no quiver in her voice, 
as she answered : 

“lam sorry, sir; it would be madness in you to cher- 
ish such an idea. If I said yes to your prayer, by to-mor- 
row night you would curse the bond that bound you to 
me. You would — don't interrupt me. I can save you 
from any such regret, however. I say now, as I said be- 
fore, there is not in all the world a creature for which I 
would lift my hand." 

“This is, no doubt, your present momentary convic- 
tion ; you will think differently when the feeling that to- 
day's occurrences have roused have had time to cool," he 
said, returning to his usual composed demeanor, for Nora 
had just entered the room. 

“I shall never think any differently from what I do now 
on this subject. Let us drop it, if you please, sir. " 

He bowed, with a somewhat flushed face, and presently 
crossed the room to where Nora sat. The grave and learned 
professor's dignity had received a cruel blow. 

An instant after Frank came in at the open window, and 
flinging from his broad, white brow the jetty curls, held 
out his hands to Vashti, with what attempted to be a de- 
fiant smile. 

She clasped his hands with her own, looked a moment 
in his unhappy eyes, and said : 

“At least we shall go together, Frank — you and I — will 
dare our fate ; and we will never submit — never ! Let us 
live while we may ; and when we feel the worst is coming, 
we will show them that we can at least die bravely, and 
cheat this wolfish doom of its prey. Is it a bargain, 
Frank?" 


LEA VING EVER LEIGH. 


247 


His pallid cheek caught a glow of bravery from her 
dauntless eyes, and he answered : 

“Yes!” hissing the word from between his set white 
teeth. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

LEAVING EVERLEIGH. 

A month went by. Vashti was the same reserved, incom- 
prehensible being, to the members of the household, but 
always self-possessed and composed ; and ii visitors called, 
as they did sometimes nowadays, she was courteous and 
even affable and conversive. 

She had never kept up acquaintance or correspondence 
with any of her Laurel Hill schoolmates, save Violet 
Granger. 

For some reason Violet had never made the promised 
visit to Everleigh, but they had corresponded regularly; 
and Vashti one morning astonished Miss Gresham and 
Nora by announcing that she was going the following week 
to Clifton, where her old friend lived. 

Violet had just left school, and was so glad and happy, 
that she could not be content till she had dispatched an in- 
vitation to Vashti to come and visit her. This invitation 
came very acceptably to Vashti, who had been for some 
time casting about in her mind, for an opportunity to take 
herself from the bounds of Everleigh. Miss Gresham 
made no reply to the abrupt announcement of her inten- 
tion, and neither did Nora, but both looked grave. 

However, as Nora reasoned to her aunt half an hour after, 
when they were alone, they ought to be pleased at the 



248 LEA VING EVERLEIGR \ 

thought of this visit. Perhaps it might cheer Vashti and 
improve her, who knew ? 

“ But you, poor child,” said Miss Gresham, “what will 
become of you in this dreary old house, alone?” 

“Alone? Oh, Aunt Margery!” Nora said, with one of 
her brave, sweet smiles, “I shall have you and my books, 
my work and my music, and as for the dreary old house. 
Aunt Margery, it isn’t dreary to me. I like it; I think it 
is the nicest place I know of. ” 

The sorrowful woman put back Nora’s chestnut curls to 
kiss her cheek, saying : 

“Teach me your lesson, my child; I think you have 
learned in whatsoever state you are, to be content. ” 

At the appointed time Vashti left them, and before her 
departure she melted enough to say to Nora, with her arm 
round her, and her cheek against hers : 

“I would give all the world to be like you, Nora ; but I 
am not, and I can’t be. I have felt kinder than I have 
acted, sister, but I was so unhappy ; I couldn’t bear your 
tender efforts to win me to your way. It seemed so useless, 
you see, for me to try, and that made me cross. I’ve a bad 
heart, I’m afraid. ” 

“Oh, sister,” Nora said, clinging to her, “if you would 
only let me love you — we would be so happy together. ” 

“There, there,” Vashti said, taking her sister’s arm from 
her neck, smiling gayly, but with tears on her beautiful 
cheeks and in her eyes, “love me all you like, dear — the 
more the better ; but it is sheer nonsense to connect hap- 
piness with me. Good-by. ” 

She kissed Nora, who said, with quivering lips : 

“You will write to me, Vashti ?” 

“Yes, not often nor much, I sha’n't have time — but I 
will write,” 


LEAVING EVERLEIGH. 


2 49 


She kept her word to the letter, writing at long intervals 
and in the briefest manner. She never spoke of coming 
home, alluded vaguely to parties, balls, lectures, concerts, 
and theaters, but still in sufficiently distinct terms to show 
that she was leading a somewhat gay life, and an expensive 
one, if any judgment could be formed from the large and 
frequent calls she made for money. In company with her 
friends family she left Clifton, as winter approached, for the 
city, and from report they heard, those patient, loving 
hearts at Everleigh, that Vashti had become a belle — the 
belle of the circle in which she moved. 

From Frank they heard, too — not from his letters, for he 
never wrote, but through that friend before mentioned. 
The rash, hot-headed young man was leading a sad life. 
He had failed of being sufficiently prepared to enter col- 
lege, as he had expected to do this fall, and had suffered 
rejection at the examination of candidates for that purpose. 
The friend who sent them these statements, more than 
hinted that Frank was getting into bad habits, and Margery 
Gresham, powerless to stop him in his chosen course, could 
only wring her pitiful, weak hands, • and bid Nora to pray 
God to save Frank. 

They thought the prayer was, perhaps, going to be an- 
swered, when one stormy, wintry midnight, he came reeling 
and cursing to the home of his fathers, disgraced — for he 
had been ignominously expelled from school. 

They got him up to his bed at last, poor fellow, where he 
showed a very crimson and shamed face when they went to 
him the next day. Toward night he crept forth, a guilty- 
looking, surly fellow, slinking about the house, and finally 
in something less than a week, he stole away, under cover 
of night, for parts unknown. They heard of him next 
from Vashti. He had joined her in the city; they were 


250 


A STRANGE VOW 


going to keep house together — he and she — in grand 
style, too. 

“ Could the Everleigh income support such magnifi- 
cence ?” Vashti wrote to ask, and Margery Gresham, with a 
sort of grim humor, assured her in return, that the treasury 
was exhaustless. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A STRANGE VOW. 

Vashti and Frank had taken a palatial mansion in the 
most fashionable part of the city. They furnished it from 
garret to cellar in true reckless style. They furnished, and 
furbelowed, and garnished, themselves and the mansion. 
They gave parties, balls, masquerades, soirees, routs, what- 
ever happened to be the fashion. Frank drove the fastest 
horses, made the biggest bets, gambled the most recklessly, 
drank the hardest, and in short gave the strongest evidence 
possible, that he was galloping to perdition faster than any 
of them. 

Vashti gratified the most expensive whims, made the 
most extravagant toilets of the season — kept the women 
crazy with envy, the men with love — but with her most dil- 
igent efforts was likely to be distanced by Frank in the race 
on that broad road that leads to destruction. 

And meanwhile, at Everleigh, Margery Gresham was 
growing haggard, thin, and old, and was saying often to 
Nora: “We could bear to be poor, couldn't we, my dar- 
ling, if being poor would save Vashti and Frank ?” and 
Nora, wondering each time more, said, “Yes," always 
‘ ‘ yes. ” 

Professor Thorpe was a leading man in an academy of 


A STRANGE VOW 


251 


science, or something of that sort, in the city — a man 
widely known and esteemed for his talents and learning. 
He had never been a gay man before, but he became one 
suddenly — threw himself, as it were, in the giddy whirl of 
folly and fashion, of which Vashti had become the center. 
Wherever she went he went; not always nor often ap- 
proaching her, but dropping brief, sharp, meaning sen- 
tences in her ear whenever he did approach her. Always 
observant, but never watchful — a votary at her shrine, but 
only covertly devoted, he never suffered her for an instant 
to forget that he loved her. 

At first she was indifferent as with others, then scornful ; 
then followed anger at his persistence, and words so bitter 
and resentful that he vowed never to address her again un- 
less she made the first approach, which she did ere long, 
for she was one of those who acted recklessly, according to 
her mood. She was variable and shifting as the wind ; 
one hour shy, silent, soft, and yielding, almost letting him 
fancy that he had power to flush that peerless cheek with 
faint crimson ; the next she would seem to be unconscious 
of his presence. 

The winter passed. Summer took the brother and sister, 
not home, but one to a gay watering-place, and the other 
to a race-course, jockey club, and similar diversions. With 
returning winter the mansion in the city, dignified with the 
title of home, was refurnished and regarnished, and the old 
round of party, rout, and ball commenced again. 

One evening as Vashti was sauntering with that indolent 
hauteur that so well became her through a brilliant as- 
sembly room, she met Professor Thorpe, with a lady on 
his arm — a very lovely lady, strikingly so. After the two 
had passed, she asked the gentleman on whose arm she 
leaned who the lady was. 


252 


A STRANGE VOW. 


“A Mrs. St. Clair/' he answered; “an old love of 
Thorpe's, I have heard — a widow. They do say she jilted 
Thorpe for St. Clair. " 

Vashti looked over her shoulder after the pair, and her 
cheek flushed hotly, but she made no reply. 

Thorpe did not once approach her the whole evening, 
but seemed to devote himself entirely to the lovely widow. 
The next evening it was about the same, and the next, 
and so on for a week, Vashti growing restless all the time, 
and flashing such imperious airs about her, that her train 
of devotees found it quite impossible to please her ; and 
then, one evening at one of her own parties, she put her 
white hand on his arm, as he stood waiting to escort Mrs. 
St. Clair to her carriage, and said : 

“I want to see you for half an hour when everybody 
has gone. " 

She looked flushed, but defiant, in answer to his in- 
quiring glance, and he bowed without a word, and led 
Mrs. St. Clair to her carriage with such an exaggeration of 
attention as made Vashti gnash her white teeth fiercely 
while she waited angrily for him. When he joined her, 
she led him silently to a small withdrawing-room opening 
off the conservatory, and left him, while she received with 
ill-concealed impatience the adieux of her company. 

They were gone at last, and she went haughtily away to 
the drawing-room in which she had left him. 

He was pacing the floor slowly, but as she came in he 
stopped, facing her, searching her countenance eagerly, 
with his lips apart, and his whole expression one of the 
keenest expectation. She made an impatient gesture with 
her hand, as she flashed her large eyes on him, dewy with 
unwonted softness, retreating before him, and with on§ 
arm against a door at her back, said : 


A STRANGE VOW. 


253 


“ Stand away from me, or I will leave the room. I 
did not ask you here to give or receive caresses. Don't 
you know, Thorpe/' — with her curious, wistful smile — 
“that love and kisses are not for us? Oh, willful man, 
could you not suffer me to save you from linking your 
fate to such an unhappy life as mine is ?" 

“I would make it a happy one," he cried, breathlessly. 

‘ ‘ What made you tear my heart as you have done the 
* past week, with your graceless ways ?" 

“I wanted to make you jealous. I confess it — I did." 

“You confess. Well, rash man, I confess, too. I was 
jealous — jealous enough to strangle that fair-faced woman. " 
A pause; she eyed him narrowly. “Thorpe you must 
never torture me so again. " 

“I shall, if I can. I shall do anything to compass the 
bliss of seeing you, having you entreat me thus." 

She took a step toward him, laid her soft warm hands 
upon his folded arms, and with her glorious face almost 
on his shoulder, said : 

“ My professor, you love me very much, do you not?" 

A thrill ran through him ; he feared to move lest the 
ecstatic vision should fade from his sight. 

“More than life!" he said, in his deep-toned voice, 
looking down upon her. 

“Would you marry me on any conditions I might im- 
pose — mind, any conditions?" 

Her face flushed scarlet as she spoke, and with an invol- 
untary movement, she hid it on his shoulder. 

He gave an exclamation, half triumph, half ecstasy, his 
folded arms slid from their clasp to fling themselves about 
her and hold her in a fierce, strong embrace. 

She clung to him, she laid her cheek to his, she suffered 
him to press numberless kisses on her face, and then she 


*54 


A STRANGE VOW. 


would have drawn herself gently away from him, but he 
would not suffer her — he held her fast. 

“My arms have hungered for you long, Vashti,” he said. 
“I cannot loose you so soon. To own you I will sub- 
scribe to any conditions. ” 

“But that is just it,” she said, lifting her head to look 
at him. “You are not to own me at all. I will make 
myself your wife ; you shall be my husband ; but we shall 
live on just as we have been living, strangers almost, save 
in the consciousness that each is beloved, and that we shall 
spend the Great Hereafter together, when there shall be 
nothing to separate us. ” 

“But, my darling, I want you here.” 

Her arms were round his neck ; she laid her cheek against 
his, saying : 

“I want you, too; my heart aches for you ; but I know, 
I know, when it was once over, when you and I were one 
indissolubly, I should fall away into the gloom of my na- 
ture, and — and you must know what would, what must in- 
evitably be the end of it all. ” 

“Why then marry me at all? Oh, I would save you 
from all that, Vashti, believe me I would, I could ; and 
then, if the worst came in spite of us, my arms should pro- 
tect you from yourself. ” 

She shuddered violently from head to foot, and starting 
from him, said, with her dark cheek changing to a grayish 
white : 

“Never! never! never! When I feel sanity forsaking 
my mind, I will die. I am not coward enough to prefer 
life to freedom from the fangs of such a doom. Choose 
now, for I will never offer even these wild conditions again. 
Marry me now* within the hour, or never 1” 


A STRANGE VOW. 


255 


“And then?” he said, with his eyes grown stern upon 
her face. 

“And then go forever away from me; swear never to 
approach me unless summoned.” 

“But, Vashti, this is wickedness, it is barbarous. What 
should we gain but torture from such a course?” 

An anguished expression swept over her face. 

“I should not have my heart torn asunder with the sight 
of your tenderness to that hateful woman, that pale-faced 
St. Clair ; or if I did, I should know that you were mine, 
and mine only, not hers, never hers Choose, sir — will 
you have me for your wife?” 

His usual staid blood leaped in his veins. 

“I will have you for my wife,” he said, hoarsely. “I 
will marry you, though the penalty be never to look upon 
your face again. ” 

He extended his arms as he spoke, but she retreated from 
him, and vanished through the door, saying : 

‘ ‘ I will be back instantly. ” 

He paced the room with fiery impatience. Before he 
had turned on his restless heel three times she was back. 
A clergyman, well known to the professor, followed her, 
and behind him came Frank Everleigh and Violet Granger, 
the former with a displeased and reluctant look upon his 
handsome face, and the latter lovely as a Peri from the 
gates of Paradise. 

Vashti wore this evening a robe of white silk taffeta, with 
white lilies upon her breast and in her hair. Over all, in 
her hurried absence from the room, she had thrown an ex- 
quisite and voluminous vail of gossamer, that fell like a 
snow mist about her, even to her feet. Thorpe came hur- 
riedly forward to meet her. 

With a face like marble, she said, stopping him : 


256 


A STRANGE VOW. 


" Swear that you will never approach me unsummoned. ” 

A flush swept over his pale face, but he said, as he lifted 
the Book she handed him to his lips ; 

"I swear.” 

With the same hardy resolution that always characterized 
her moments of deepest excitement, she gave the Bible into 
the clergyman’s hands, and placed herself with a profoundly 
solemn air by the man she was about to espouse. The 
clasp she gave him was by turns ice and fire. 

As the clergyman distinctly and impressively proceeded to 
state the vows and obligations each was pretending to take 
upon them, her shamed and agonized eyes fell before the 
solemn words. He lifted up his hands. 

4 'Let us pray.” 

And as he prayed the newly-made husband felt, in the 
hand of his newly -made wife, the storm of emotion that 
shook her fiercely. 

It was finished. And as the clergyman, Frank and Vio- 
let left the room, obedient to an imperative gesture from 
Vashti, the wedded pair searched each other’s eyes with 
dreary solemnity. 

"My husband/’ she said, her air all softness and tender 
deprecation. 

"My wife,” he answered as tenderly, "you will live to 
cancel this oath with which you have fettered me. In re- 
ality you are as much mine as I am yours.” 

She trembled before him, silently struggling with her 
almost unconquerable desire to say ; "I cancel it now — 
never leave me more. ” 

"Vashti, sweet wife, say that I may stay with you 
always,” he said softly in her ear, pursuing his advantage. 

With her glance fascinated to his intensely loving eyes, 
flushes dyeing face, neck, and brow, she was melting with a 


TA A TA LIZA TION 


257 


shadow of reluctance into his arms, when a little French 
time-piece in the next room musically chimed the hour. 

With a wild cry, she started from him, beating her breast 
with her hands and moaning : 

“God forgive me, I cannot!” 

“May God never forgive you if you repudiate the vows 
you have just so solemnly taken upon yourself,” he said, 
sternly, with his arms refolded upon his breast, and his face 
pallid, like that of a corpse. 

She drew herself up a little haughtily. 

“Your oath to me underlies and covers all that ground.” 

“It does not — I maintain it does not. It binds me, and 
me alone. All the sin, and shame, and curse of these vows 
you have just taken, and are wantonly breaking, is yours. 
I wash myself clean of it. ” 

He spoke with bitter emphasis, and she stood looking at 
him with scared eyes an instant, and then saying, through 
white lips, “I hold you to it, nevertheless, remember your 
oath,” she fled from the room, 


CHAPTER XXX. 

TANTALIZATION. 

A week went by. Every morning Professor Thorpe said 
to himself: “She will surely send for me to-day. She 
will surely drop me one word of greeting.” 

But she did not. Every night at the party, ball, or as- 
sembly of the evening, he met her, or rather saw her from 
a distance, cold, stately, beautiful, unapproachable ; neither 
kindness nor recognition in her unfathomable eyes. 


258 


TA NTALIZA TIOK 


The St. Clair he saw also, but he never gave her courtesy 
or attention but once, and then, the smoldering fire that 
revealed itself in Vashti’s eyes, as she took occasion to pass 
him, warned him that she would not endure that. He gave 
her a defiant and reproachful glance in reply, but he carefully 
avoided the St Clair afterward. 

One evening, as Vashti was dressing to go out, a letter 
was brought to her. She read it, compressing her lips, and 
changing color, read it again, slowly, and refolding and re- 
sealing it, directed her maid to take it to Frank, if he was 
in his room ; if not, to leave it there. 

The girl came back with word that she had found him, 
and given it to him ; and presently Frank came himself, 
looking pale and flurried. 

“What is all this confounded nonsense about ?” he said, 
flinging his sister the letter. 

“I have read it,” she answered, crumpling it in her slight 
fingers, and tossing it into the fire. “You may go, Sarah / 7 
to her maid. 

The girl left the room, and Frank watched his sister an 
instant, calmly selecting from a heap of blossoms from the 
conservatory, some flowers for her hair, and then said : 

“Vashti, you are the most aggravating creature I ever 
saw. You are as unaffected by this news, for aught I can 
see, as that girl who just went out . 77 

She smiled a little scornfully, and threw the flowers 
down, saying, as she took from the drawer a set of opals : 

“I may as well be magnificent to-night, as it is likely 
it will be the last time . 77 

He threw himself into a chair, saying : 

“What are we to do, anyway? What is to become of 
us now ? Do stop decking yourself, Vashti, and talk a 
little / 7 


TANTALIZA TION. 


259 

She made him no reply, arranging the opals, shaking 
out the lace trimming of her rich dress, and finally, with 
the utmost deliberation, sat down. 

“ Well,” she said, “ brother mine, about this news. It 
amounts, as I understand it, to this — just this — the money 
is all gone ! You and I have spent in about a year more 
money than an Everleigh ever did before in a life-time.” 

“ I don’t believe it. How could we ?” 

“Easy enough, when one spends a small fortune as 
you did yesterday on that span of grays. I did something 
after the same style yesterday, and the day before, and the 
day before that. This, for instance,” throwing him a 
dainty pocket-handkerchief, “cost about half as much as 
your grays. There are half a dozen of them. ” 

“I don’t care ; I don’t believe a word of it.” He was 
interrupted by a violent fit of .coughing. “What business 
had our money to be in a bank ? Banks are always break- 
ing ; and as for that enormous sum Aunt Margery says we 
have spent, I don’t believe it, there ! But I don’t see what 
difference it makes how much we have spent. If we had 
not spent it, it would have been swallowed up in that 
broken bank. Whatever was the use in Aunt Margery 
being appointed guardian for us ? Dr. Grade would have 
put the money in a safe place. It is just like a woman’s 
work. I am glad I shall be of age sometime. ” 

“Pshaw ! Frank, it was no fault of Aunt Margery’s the 
bank breaking; and I’m sure she never stinted us in 
money as long as it lasted. We’ve spent all we wanted to ; 
and, for aught I can see, you and I will have to, go back 
to Everleigh, or do worse. I’ve an idea that the house, 
trinkets, grays, bays, and sorrels will pay whatever debts 
there are on the firm of Everleigh & Co. ” 

“You talk about it in a wonderful easy, off-hand way, 


2 6o 


TANTALIZA TION 


but you will find when it comes to the ” — here he was in- 
terrupted again by a fit of coughing. “I say, Vashti, I 
wonder where I got such a cough ?” 

“You’ve coughed all winter. I shouldn’t wonder, 
Frank, if that cough took you out of the world. ” 

“Nonsense,” he said, turning pale. “Vashti, I don’t 
want to die. I’m not fit to die ; and, I’m afraid, I never 
shall be.” 

A coughing spell followed, more violent and prolonged 
than before. 

Vashti sat with an assumption of nonchalance ; but, 
through it all, the gloom that brooded in her heart shone 
darkly. 

Frank got up to leave the room, coughing as he went. 

“You are not going out to-night?” Vashti said, 
inquiringly. 

“Yes, I am; I’m going to get warm first, though. 
Your room is colder than Greenland.” He shivered as he 
spoke. 

“You’d better stay in with that cough; it’s a perfect 
hurricane outdoors.” 

“ I’m going if it kills me ; and I shouldn’t wonder if it 
did. I couldn’t endure being alone to-night.” 

He went out, and presently Vashti rang to know if the 
carriage was ready for her, and departed for the evening 
gayety. 

She embraced the first opportunity, after entering the 
brilliant and crowded room, to summon Professor Thorpe 
to her side, and bewildered him with the enchanting gen- 
tleness of her demeanor. 

Never had she looked more beautiful ; never had her 
loveliness taken a more weird form than to-night. All the 
evening she entranced him with word, look, and smile—' 


TA NT A LIZA TION. 


261 


suffered him to attend her to her carriage door, but put 
him back when he would have entered, saying, as she gave 
him her hand : 

“I leave town to-morrow for Everleigh. You may 
write me, but I will not promise to answer very promptly. 
Good-by. ” 

Thorpe bit his lip fiercely as the carriage drove off, and 
paced two hours in the stormy street, unconscious of wind 
or snow, so much more stormy was the conflict within 
him. 

Vashti did not leave town the next day, nor the next. 
Frank was very ill with a lung fever, and continued in a 
precarious state several weeks. She staid within doors, 
seeing no one but the household and the physician, and 
enduring herself as best she might. If Professor Thorpe 
expected a summons to see his wayward and eccentric 
wife, he was disappointed ; and doubtless he did, for not a 
day passed that he did not leave at the door what pretended 
to be a note, but was very voluminous indeed for such a 
document. 

“You did not forbid me to write/' he wrote ; “and if 
you did, I should not obey you." 

As soon as Frank was pronounced out of danger, and 
was getting about again, Vashti announced her desire to 
proceed home to Everleigh. Frank shuddered at the bare 
thought, but was content to be left. 

“ I think when I get a little stronger," he said, “111 sell 
off all these things here, and make a trip to England, 
France, or anywhere away from Everleigh. Ugh ! I can't 
endure the place." 

Vashti had quite as great an aversion to Everleigh, but 
what might serve Frank a very good purpose in his pro- 


262 


TANTALIZA TION. 


posed trip would be penury for both, and so she kept her 
aversion to herself and went to Everleigh. 

Philip met her at Hart Corners, with the same old- 
fashioned, lumbering vehicle that had taken her to Laurel 
Hill six years before. Philip drove himself, greatly to her 
surprise, and her surprise received no diminution on reach- 
ing the house and learning the state of affairs. The ser- 
vants had been nearly all dismissed ; there was only Philip, 
Elise, and Hubert left, with the attendant of the poor 
creature up stairs. 

Vashti had more than half suspected that the broken 
bank story was all a hoax — a plan of Aunt Margery to get 
her and Frank home — but she began to conclude there was 
some reality about the matter, when she saw Nora and her 
aunt turning their attention and time to domestic duties ; 
and w r hen Miss Gresham laid before her the official an- 
nouncement that the bank had stopped payment, she gave 
to the winds any suspicion she might have had. 

. Vashti really seemed somewhat improved by her sojourn 
in society. She was cordial to Nora, kindly to Aunt Mar- 
gery, but in a wonderful state of dismay about the state of 
affairs. 

Elise was still a stout, able-bodied woman, and did her 
share, and more, too, of the work of the house. Hubert 
helped his father, outdoors, and his mother indoors; 
and Miss Gresham and Nora did the rest. 

In her dismay at this state of things, Vashti at first made 
her presence quite endurable, her manner being less im- 
perious — more gentle and subdued. But afterward she 
grew restless and peevish. 

Thanks to Miss Gresham, employment for her hands was 
a pleasure to Nora ; but Vashti, while she could not endure 
the sight of her sister “drudging,” as she called it, looked 


TA NT A LIZA TIOK 263 

hopelessly at her own white, useless fingers, and could not, 
or would not, help herself in the least. 

She would sit for hours in her own room, brooding 
gloomily over her griefs, or coming upon her sister sweep- 
ing, or attending to some other of the manifold duties she 
had latterly taken upon herself, would snatch the household 
implement from her hands, and flinging it across the room, 
break forth into a bitter tirade upon the whole “disgraceful 
arrangement ” 

“Aunt Margery has money,” she said, “let her save you 
from this. I don’t believe there is any need of it. You 
are only doing it to vex and shame me for my idle useless- 
ness. I can’t work — I don’t want to work — I don’t know 
how, and I wouldn’t if I did. ” 

“Aunt Margery has no money,” Nora would say in her 
gentle tones. “She sent her money to you, and Frank, 
too. ” 

“Sent her money? Then she must have known what 
was coming ; it is of a piece with her usual maneuvering 
disposition. It was just one of her plans to ‘ save us, ’ as 
she calls it. Does she think she makes the matter any 
better by bringing me home to this gloomy Hades ? The 
place is as dismal as a mad-house. She knew what we 
were coming to, I know she did. Why couldn’t she tell 
us ? She cheered us on to that extravagant style of living, 
she did, Nora ; she meant to bring us down to drink this 
cup of poverty’s distilling, and if she lives long enough 
she’ll see that she has made another miserable mistake.” 

Nora did not often reply to such outbreaks as this. She 
had her own suspicions that Aunt Margery had planned to 
this end, but she kept them quite to herself. 


264 


BANKRUPT, BODY AND SOUK 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

BANKRUPT, BODY AND SOUL. 

Frank wrote once in a while. He had realized some- 
thing very comfortable from the sale of the “ house in 
town ” and its appurtenances, and was traveling in Europe. 
Health not very good, he wrote, but he thought it was im- 
proving. There was now and then an absurd attempt to 
jest about his malady, which, some of the physicians had 
told him, might end in consumption. Of course, he said 
that idea was too incredible for belief. 

From time to time, through the winter and spring, he 
wrote fluctuating accounts of himself — he had taken cold, 
or been imprudent about diet, or the particular climate he 
was in wasn’t fit for a gentleman to live in, and at last he 
had concluded to try home air — they might send Philip to 
the city to meet him if they could, and they might send a 
bed, too, if they could as well as not — it made him very 
tired to travel sometimes ; all of which had the effect at 
Everleigh of forewarning them what was coming ; and 
when Philip got out the old carriage to go to the city, Nora 
would go too. 

They had to wait a week or two, for the vessel in which 
Frank was to come had not reached port. 

It came at last, and the gaunt, shadowy-looking person- 
age that strong men bore tenderly to the waiting carriage 
was Frank — Frank reduced to weakness, emaciation, and 
hectic flushes, but peevish, restless, and impatient. 

Should they take him to the hotel for a rest? No ; take 
him home — home to Everleigh — and home to Everleigh 
they hastened. That was a dreary ride home. Poor 
Frank, with his distress for breath, which he tried to ac- 


BANKRUPT, BODY AND SOUL. 265 


count for by calling the carriage “ a close, musty affair/' 
and moaning in spite of himself with some inward mental 
or physical pain that beaded his white forehead with an- 
guished moisture. 

Fortunately the carriage was easy as it was possible for 
anything on wheels to be, and the weather — the middle of 
June — fine, rather cool for the time of year, the roads 
smooth and not dusty. 

Frank's first demand, on being assisted to the house, 
whither he would walk, was for Doctor Gracie. These 
foreign doctors didn't know anything, they had half killed 
him with their stuff now. He gasped for breath as he 
spoke, and was interrupted by a feeble cough that yet 
seemed to exhaust his little strength. 

They had taken him, at his request, to the ruddy-tinted 
sitting-room ; and as he sat in the easy-chair that had been 
his mother's, with his head thrown back, his eyes closed, 
and the red glow of the room on his transparent face, he 
looked like one dead. Vashti, seeming suddenly to have 
grown weak and nervous, could not endure the sight, and 
shrank from the room with an expression very nearly re- 
sembling fright in her startled eyes. 

Margery Gresham, with quite as painful an emotion 
visible upon her stern face, yet hovered around ; and Nora, 
having hastily doffed her traveling gear, waited near, ready, 
with her pure eyes and peaceful face, to render any service 
that might be needed, and which the others seemed quite 
unfitted for. 

Opening his eyes after a little, they chanced to meet the 
mournful gaze of that pictured face above the mantel-piece. 
He struggled as in the grasp of some painful memory, say- 
ing, pitifully : 

“ Take it away ! oh, take it away I” 


266 


BANKRUPT, BODY AND SOUL. 


Margery Gresham herself, mounting a chair, proceeded 
with trembling and hurried fingers to take the picture 
down. In doing so, it slipped from her hand, and fell, 
with a crash, to the floor, the heavy frame shivered in 
pieces, and the canvas torn nearly across. 

Frank started from his seat, only to fall back feeble 
and faint. 

Margery looked appalled upon the fragments, and Nora, 
with her shocked brown eyes full of tears, lifted the sad 
remains tenderly, as if there had been life in them, and 
carefully removed them to a place of safety. 

Dr. Gracie came ere long, somewhat prepared for the 
sight of the poor, emaciated invalid in the sitting-room. 

Frank brightened up wonderfully at sight of the doctor’s 
genial face, and held out his wan and shrunken fingers 
eagerly. Dr. Grade’s keen but tender eyes took in the 
hopelessness of the poor fellow’s case almost instantly. No 
need to feel his pulse, with those strangely brilliant eyes 
feverishly watching every movement, and that terrible 
hectic spot upon his cheek. 

“ Have you much pain ?” Dr. Gracie asked. 

“No, sir, not much; only what comes from difficulty 
in breathing. That fool of a Frenchman that was on ship- 
board with me said something about an abscess — an ab- 
scess on the lungs. I don’t suppose that is anything very 
dangerous, is it ?” 

‘ ‘ While there is life there is hope, ” said Dr. Gracie, 
gravely. 

The hearts of the listeners sunk, all but one. Frank 
said, joyously : 

“I knew you could help me, sir. You see, I have all 
the faith in the world in you, and they say it is a great 
help for a patient to have faith in his physician.” 


BANKRUPT, BODY AND SOUL . 267 


He spoke with great difficulty ; every word seemed to 
pain him, and Dr. Gracie, turning away, walked to the 
window, smothering a groan. , 

Dr. Gracie stood at the window a little, and then coming 
back to his patient, talked cheeringly with him a few 
minutes, asked some more questions and examined into 
his general symptoms, and leaving some simple medicines, 
went out into the hall. 

Nora followed him, voiceless with emotion, but an elo- 
quence of questioning in her eyes. 

He took her hands in his, saying, sadly, “He can't live, 
Nora," answering her mute questioning. 

Her face dropped instantly to her hands, but she soon 
lifted it, saying : 

“ He must know it, sir ; indeed he must be told. He 
must not die without any warning. ” 

Dr. Gracie looked at her sorrowfully. 

“It will be hard making him believe it, Nora." 

“I know, I know, but there is all the more reason he 
should be told, and by you, for he will be more apt to be- 
lieve you. " 

“Well, well, watch your chance, and if you can catch 
him in the right mood, tell him, if not I will tell him to- 
morrow, when I come." 

Frank's jealous eye caught the sorrowful and changed 
expression of the faces round him. Vashti had reluctantly 
come back into the room, because he asked for her, but it 
was impossible for her to keep out of her countenance the 
shock she had received at sight of his death-struck face. 
He looked sharply from one to another, and then said, 
querulously : 

“You all look as though you thought somebody was 
going to die — don't look at me in that long-drawn way. 


268 


BANKRUPT ; BODY AND SOUL. 


Brighten up yourselves and the room. Pile on more wood, 
coal, something — and throw open that window. What a 
damp, musty old charnel-house Everleigh is, to be sure.” 

They opened the window, and heaped high the fire, and 
tried to look cheerful, but it was a mockery of brightness, 
that was worse than the previous dreary expression. It was 
impossible to seem cheerful, in the face of that dread and 
fear of death, that Frank could not keep out of his eyes, 
and that all his efforts at unconcern and disbelief only made 
more apparent. Toward night he grew more and more rest- 
less, and seemed nervously apprehensive of being left 
alone. 

Nora never left his side, and he clung to her hand like a 
frightened child. It had not been dark more than two 
hours, when he began to exclaim : 

“How long the night is. Will it never, never be morn- 
ing? Will it never, never be morning again?” 

He slept at intervals only, and in his chair, for it was im- 
possible for him to lie down, with Nora’s hand clasped 
tightly in his all night. They brought a lounge in for her, 
but she had no disposition to sleep, even if that passionate 
clasp of her hand had loosened, which it did not. 

Margery Gresham kept the dreary watch with her, that 
first night, but though he liked her in the room, he would 
never suffer Nora away from him. 

About midnight, he had a very wakeful spell, and would 
talk half to himself and half to his sister. His mind ran 
altogether on dreary subjects. 

“Nora, am I going to die? Did Dr. Gracie say so?” he 
suddenly asked. 

She put her arms round his neck, and held him silently 
to her. 

He burst into tears on her shoulder. 


BANKRUPT, BODY AND SOUL. 26 9 


“Oh, Nora, I can't die — I can't ” 

She soothed him, as one does a terribly frightened child, 
with a caressing movement upon his hair and face. 

“Try to trust God, dear — try to trust Him and lean on 
Him." 

“Trust God now, when all my life I have defied him? 
No, no, my slippery clasp falls away from Him. How I 
wish the morning would come. Will it ever be light for 
me again ?" 

“Dear Frank, dear brother, don't trouble about it; 
don't you see how helpless you are ? Realize it, oh, 
Frank, and give all your care to God. Try, dear, keep 
trying. ” 

And so all the night through she soothed him, in her 
heart of hearts, prayed for him, and sometimes brought 
her little Bible and read to him. 

Morning came at last, and with it Doctor Gracie. Frank 
fastened frantically upon the hand he gave in greeting. 

“Tell me, doctor, how long have I got to live?" 

“I hope it may be for many days," he said, with the 
usual reluctance of a physician to answer such a leading 
question. 

“Many days!" Frank echoed, almost bitterly. “I want 
to live months and years. What are many days to me?" 

There was a long interval of silence, and then he said : 

“Tell me, sir, how many days " 

“I couldn’t tell you, my dear boy; don't worry about 
it ; you may live a week or two. " 

Frank shuddered with uncontrollable terror. 

“I don't believe I am going to die, sir. Why, I feel 
better this morning than I have in a great while. You 
wouldn’t try to scarce a poor, nervous fellow like me, would 
you, doctor?" 


BANKRUPT, BODY AND SOUL. 


270 

“Heaven forbid. You seem to me like an own son, 
Frank/' 

He was silent again, moodily thinking. Presently the 
doctor went out, and Nora, saying “Let me tell him how 
you were through the night, Frank?" slipped from the 
room, apparently unnoticed by him. 

Overtaking Doctor Gracie a little way from the door, she 
said : 

“Tell me, sir, just how it is." 

He answered her instantly and plainly, just as she de- 
served to be answered. 

“ He may live a week, and he may die to-morrow. An 
abscess will form toward the last, and then he will go very 
quick. ” 

He detailed the symptoms to her of the approaching end 
in language too plain to be misunderstood, and wringing 
her hand, left her. 

She stood a minute composing her features, and returned 
to Frank. As she opened the door she was startled to dis- 
cover that it was ajar, and as she entered, there was Frank 
catching at the wall for support. 

He had followed her to the door, opened it a little way, 
and heard all. 

He submitted with dumb passiveness to be assisted back 
to his chair, and sat down without a word. Nora made no 
remark, and he did not himself allude to it all day ; but 
whenever he fell asleep he would start from t with an ex- 
pression of unutterable terror. 

Doctor Gracie, who dropped in again during the day, 
said to Miss Gresham : 

“I don't believe this malady could have made any head- 
way with a constitution like his if it had not been for the 


BANKRUPT, BODY AND SOUL. 


271 


dread that was always preying upon him — the dread of his 
fathers fate. " 

Vashti sat much with her brother this day ; she had in 
a measure recovered her self-possession, and remained with 
him, as well as Nora, through the night. 

He slept more this night, and Nora had also an oppor- 
tunity to obtain a little of the sleep she so much needed. 

In the morning Nora, who had begun to hope that he 
was resigning himself to his approaching death, was shocked 
to perceive the hopeless terror of his eyes. 

4 'The abscess is forming/' he said; “I know — I know 
it is." 

And till the doctor came he sat like one already struck 
with death. 

Dr. Gracie did not attempt to conceal that it was true. 

Vashti rallied sufficiently to offer, after her fashion, con- 
solation to her horror-stricken brother. 

“ Die bravely, Frank," she said, but her lips were white ; 
“die bravely. You are escaping the fangs of a woli more 
deadly than death. 

“You don't know — you don’t know!" he moaned. 
“Death is the King of Terrors !" 

Afterward he sank into a kind of despairing apathy, 
from which, when Nora attempted to rouse him, he would 
only open his lips to say : 

“But I don't want to die — I don't want to die." 

And so the day wore away, and the night, no one know- 
ing when death might knock at the door. 

The following day, about noon, the summons came. 

They were all collected there — Margery Gresham, Vashti, 
Nora, and Dr. Gracie, Philip, Elise, and Hubert. Frank 
wanted them all round him. 


BANKRUPT, BODY AND SOUL % 


272 

He sat facing the bay-window, which was open, when he 
cried, suddenly : 

“It is coining! Help me to the window — air, more 
air r 

They helped ; he had risen himself, and he half walked, 
was half carried to the window, leaning on Dr. Grade and 
Nora. 

It was a bright day ; he opened his great, brilliant 
eyes wide upon it; he stretched his arms with a spas- 
modic effort, as if he would grasp it, and cried : 

“I don’t want to die ! I ” 

‘ His head fell on his shoulder; his knees crippled under 
him — he was dead ! 

There were only pale faces round him. Every heart stood 
still at sight of such a death — this, so short a time before, 
gay, reckless, beautiful boy, scarce more than a boy now, 
for he was only nineteen, torn abruptly from life. Oh ! 
who would wish to die such a death ? 

Dr. Gracie and Hubert lifted him, laid him on the 
lounge, and straightened his limbs. He had a little more 
natural look when they had closed the startling, brightened 
eyes, and bound up the ghastly chin, but it was a sorrow- 
ful sight at best. 


1 


LIGHTNING-S TR UCK. 


273 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

LIGHTNING-STRUCK. 

Professor Thorpe had never come to Everleigh since 
Vashti's return thither. He had written often — long, im- 
passioned letters, that Vashti devoured in secret, and then 
almost guiltily thrust in the fire, but never answered. 

At last came one proclaiming itself the last, bitterly re- 
proaching her, and announcing his approaching departure 
for foreign lands. Though her heart felt as if in the grasp 
of a hand of iron, she never lifted her pen to say the word 
that she knew would stay him. 

After Frank's death she seemed to have taken into her 
strange eyes the terror that in his had appeared invincible. 

Dr. Grade looked at her often, saying inwardly : 

“1 am afraid she will go as Frank did." 

One day, several weeks after Frank's death, she was in 
the dining-room, looking over a newspaper after breakfast, 
when with a scream that fairly rent the ears it reached, she 
rose from her seat, took a few frantic steps from the table, 
and fell like a corpse upon the floor. 

They lifted her, the paper still in her rigid clasp, and 
bore her to her bed — unable to loosen the paper from her 
hand. They tore it away, leaving a fragment in her death- 
like grasp. 

All efforts at restoring her to consciousness proving un- 
availing, Dr. Gracie was sent for. 

Under the strong treatment he applied, she came slowly 
to herself, opening her eyes soon, and, after a little, sitting 
up, but with the most horror-stricken expression of counte- 
nance it is possible to imagine. 


274 


LIGHTNING- S TR UCH 


The doctor and Miss Gresham withdrew presently, leav- 
ing her alone with Nora, who sat beside her on the bed, 
with one arm thrown round hen 

The proud girl had hitherto in her deepest trouble reject- 
ed all sympathy. Now, however, she threw her arms round 
her sisters neck, and laid her suffering face upon her 
shoulder. A few minutes she lay thus, drawing her breath 
heavily with Nora s tender kisses dropping on her cheek, 
and then partially raising herself, she looked at the fragment 
of torn paper, which she still held, and passed it to her 
sister. 

It was a list of passengers lost in the wreck of the ship 
Europa, a few weeks previous. A little way down the list 
was a name that Vashti laid her quivering finger on. 

“ Robert Thorpe, Professor in the Academy of Sciences. " 

“He was my husband/' she said, simply; “and I have 
killed him, as I did our mother!" 

And then she took her arm from Nora s neck, and push- 
ing her from her, said, with an indesciibable expression 
and manner : 

“Leave me, leave me, leave me !” 

Nora sobbed beside her, pleading : 

“Sister, we are all that are left to each other — let me 
comfort you. ” 

“Will you go?" Vashti answered, almost angrily. 
“Leave me to wrestle with my fate." 

Nora went away reluctantly, and weeping as she went. 

She returned to the door after a while, again, but it was 
fast ; listening, she heard no noise in the room, and hoping 
that Vashti might have fallen asleep, she went away. At 
noon she returned again, but the room was still silent as 
death. Under the influence of some indefinable dread or 
apprehension, she was about to knock, but did not, going 


LIGHTNING’ STR UCK. 


*75 


away to consult Aunt Margery, who advised her to wait a 
while. 

The day was a sultry one, in the last of July, the air close, 
still, oppressive ; not a leaf stirring. Everybody and every- 
thing seemed languishing with heat. Toward nightfall this 
unnatural and brooding calm deepened. Suddenly, with 
scarce a note of warning, great clouds, black with thunder, 
whirled up over the face of earth, covering it with thick 
darkness. The wind came down with a swoop and a whis- 
tle, and amid incessant flashings of lightning and crashing 
of thunder, the rain leaped forth in floods. 

The house was the scene of the wildest dismay. Through 
the open window and doors upon which the tempest had 
burst with such unwarned abruptness, the storm swept like 
a hurricane, and the thunder seemed to shake the strong 
old house to its very foundation. All were hurrying hither 
and thither, with no light save the sheeted lightning, and 
scarcely able to hear each other's voices above the din of 
the storm. It took their united strength to close the great 
hall door, and bar it. One by one the remaining doors 
and windows were being closed. 

Margery Gresham and Nora were together, shutting the 
bay-window in the sitting-room. In the great and sudden 
tumult, neither had thought of Vashti, when all at once she 
started up like a ghost before them, moaning and wringing 
her hands like one insane with fright. 

She had always possessed a great dread of a thunder- 
storm, and this terrible war of the elements, bursting upon 
her in her anguished and despondent state, had almost 
shocked her out of her senses. 

Both Miss Gresham and Nora sprang toward her. She 
eluded their extended arms, sprang through the open win- 
dow, and out into the rain and darkness. By the glare of 


LIGHTNING-STR UCK. 


276 

the lightning, they caught glimpses of her, tearing away 
through the trees, and Nora would have instantly followed 
but for her aunt’s restraining hand. 

“Let us find Hubert and Philip,” she said, “and send 
them out with lanterns after her. You could do nothing.” 

Just as Philip and Hubert sallied out, each armed with a 
lantern, a stream of lightning poured about them, lasting 
for several seconds, and most intense in brilliancy. At the 
same instant, almost, the thunder crashed apparently very 
near them, with a sound as though every tree in the 
grounds had been rent asunder. 

Appalled, but more than ever alarmed for Vashti, they 
plunged forward through the hurricane and the flood, aim- 
ing as nearly as they could in their bewilderment for the 
direction in which the frightened girl had last been seen, 
and thence instinctively made for the stream which crossed 
the grounds near here, with a deep, but unuttered fear that 
she might have fallen into it. With a most terrible misgiving, 
they discovered, not by the glare of the lightning, or the 
feeble ray of their lanterns, but by the roar of the waters 
along their banks, that the floods of rain that had fallen, 
had raised the stream to an unparalleled degree. 

Each was about to express his dismay to the other, 
when, in the same instant, the eyes of each fell upon the 
object of their search, cowering right in their path. 

She was quite incapable of motion, and as one lifted 
her in his strong arms, while the other took the lanterns, 
she made no sound, though she was evidently still 
breathing. 

They bore her in, and laid her, with her dripping gar- 
ments and stony face, upon the bed she had so lately 
left ; and while Nora, sobbing brokenly, wrung the water 


LIGHTNING-S TR UCK. 


277 


out of her long, disheveled hair and dried it with towels, 
Margery Gresham and Elise removed her wet clothes. 

She submitted with dumb passiveness to them, like one 
in a trance, making no movement, not even to open her 
eyes, which looked as if glued together. 

They put dry robes upon her and got her into bed, but 
still she never moved or spoke. 

Nora hung over her, almost beside herself with grief and 
apprehension. 

‘ 4 Talk to me, love — sister ; just one word to your poor 
Nora. Do you know me, dear? Only open your eyes 
once and look upon me.” 

Vashti slowly moved her head from side to side, and 
was silent. The three women, with woeful faces, looked 
at each other. 

Suddenly the poor girl started up, and with her eyes 
still closed, groped for the light, which Elise, who was 
holding it, instinctively yielded to her. She took it in one 
hand, and with the fingers of the other pushed up the lids 
of first one eye and then the other, passing the light so 
near as to almost scorch them, saying, with an accent of 
the most unutterable horror, "Blind! oh, Heaven, blind!” 
and fell upon her knees, shuddering so violently that the 
very bed shook under her. 

An appalled silence sank upon the group. Miss Gresham 
was the first to break it, with an involuntary groan, and 
as, unable to control her feelings, she left the room, Nora 
knelt by the bed and buried her face in the clothes. Each 
felt instinctively that this was a blow too recent and terrible 
to be discussed. 

Out into the storm again, which, though past its 
height, still raged violently, Hubert went to summon 
Dr. Grade. 


278 


LIGHTNING-STR UCK. 


When the anxious physician reached Everleigh, Vashti 
was raving in delirium — a delirium in which she lived over 
and over again all the agony, love, remorse, waywardness, 
and terror of those two years past ; in which that strange, 
intoxicated life she and Frank had led was unfolded like a 
scroll before the eyes of her listeners. 

What a life hers had been ! What a life that must be 
which, if ever she recovered her health, she must enter 
upon ! 

Dr. Gracie gave no hope that she would ever see again. 
She would live, he hoped and believed, but the lightning- 
stroke had indeed sealed her eyes forever from the light 
of this life. 

The fever ran high, but abated soon, and as rapidly as 
it had risen, leaving her a mere wreck of her former self, 
all her haughty and resentful pride, her stubborn and im- 
patient spirit broken up. She lay all the day upon her pil- 
low, feeble as a new-born babe, dependent entirely on the 
ministrations of others for the merest change of position, 
and rarely lifting the long, curling lashes from her seared 
eyeballs. But the expression of her face grew daily a more 
resigned one, as in her feeble helplessness, her utter pros- 
tration, with all that had made life beautiful to her, stricken 
away, she groped blindly to the foot of the mercy-seat, con- 
tent to wait humbly there till the Divine Hand touched her 
and the Master said : 

“My daughter, be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven 
thee. ” 

Then, from the very verge of the grave, she began to 
mend, and from the faint red of her lips blossomed the 
old, rare, sweet smile, beautified till it seemed like an an- 
gel's smile. 

With her hand in Nora's, and Nora's arm round her, 


HOPE DEFERRED. 


*79 


her still regal head drooping a little, she came at last out 
of her room, and went with faltering but patient step down 
the halls to sit a while in the great wide doorway, with the 
October sun shining upon her fragile, folded fingers, and 
her sightless eyes. Occasionally an expression of exquisite 
pain crossed her thin, white face, as she turned her head 
involuntarily to look as some sound broke upon her ear, 
but she put that emotion away with a sadly patient smile, 
and her folded hands upon her startled heart. Nora staid 
always beside her when it was possible, but poverty pressed 
hard, and Nora was chained to duties burdensome enough 
in themselves because beyond her strength, but now grown 
doubly so because they took her from her helpless sister. 
She bore up bravely, however, and never dropped a repin- 
ing word. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

HOPE DEFERRED. 

To add to Nora's difficulties, Elise was now taken ill. 
In her anxiety to relieve Nora, she had overtasked herself, 
and, to her indescribable dismay, found that she had only 
placed another burden on her hands. She kept up as long 
as she could, but she had to give up at last. 

Nora was almost disheartened at this. Strength and 
courage seemed as if they must fail, but she resolutely tried 
to keep all expression of it out of her countenance. 

Philip went out to find help for her; but the well- 
trained servants they had dismissed months before had all 
found places long ere this, and he was obliged to take a 


HOPE DEFERRED. 


280 

young, ignorant, inexperienced girl, who was likely to be 
more trouble than profit, judging from appearances. 

Margery Gresham had grown old and wrinkled, pinched, 
thin, and bent in these last two years ; but since this sad 
change had come upon Vashti she had become incompre- 
hensible and strange. She would stand and watch Nora 
patiently toiling through difficulties enough to daunt the 
owner of a stouter pair of hands than hers, and then burst- 
ing in upon her with an impetuosity very unusual, would 
take the girls pale face between her palms, and, searching 
it with her sharp, sunken eyes, would nod and mutter to 
herself, “Good girl — brave girl, reward sure/' etc. 

Nora had another trouble hid away in her heart, as bur- 
densome as any she had felt. 

It was six years since she had seen her friend, Leon 
Brownlee. He had written often — his own brave, out- 
spoken, tender letters ; for he had never forgotten the shy, 
sweet child that had so interested him, and he had got 
such a hold of her loving, grateful heart as neither time 
nor absence could ever loosen. Through all these six years 
gone she had looked forward to his return with inexpres- 
sible longing. But now it had been more than twice as 
long as ever before since she had heard from him, and, 
with the remembrance fresh upon her tortured mind of 
that shipwreck in which the idol of Vashti s passionate 
heart had gone down, she could think of nothing else but 
the great wave-lashed ocean that perhaps covered him — her 
friend, her brother. 

Her lips grew white at the bare thought. As October 
advanced, and merged itself in stormy November, this un- 
certainty of doubt and anguish grew almost unbearable, 
and she watched the papers, as it was thence Vashti had de- 
rived her evil tidings. 


HOPE DEFERRED . 


281 

One evening, while thus occupied, she started up with a 
smothered exclamation, and a glance at her sister of the 
profoundest astonishment. 

Vashti, sitting before the fire with her folded hands upon 
her lap, had inclined her ear to the half-uttered sound. 
She had already something of the sharpened hearing pecu- 
liar to the blind. 

I “What is it, sister ?” she said, in the soft, musical tones 
that had characterized her speech since her misfortune. 

Nora crossed the room, and kissing her on her colorless 
cheek, said : 

“What would you say, sister, if we were to get some of 
our sad losses made up to us ? We do lead a rather hard 
life, don’t we ?” 

Vashti thought she referred to money matters, and an- 
swered : 

“Have you any encouraging news from the bank?” 

“I guess God is going to settle part of our account for 
us,” Nora answered, with another kiss, and turning away 
with tears, she could no longer repress, in her brown eyes. 

Miss Gresham looked up with a surprised glance, and 
Nora, laying the paper on her knee, pointed to a paragraph 
a little way down the page. Her eye, too, went from the 
paper to the lovely, drooping face at the fireside, and a flush 
of deep emotion crossed her cheek. 

Vashti asked no more questions, and presently, Nora, 
bringing writing materials into the room, sat down near the 
fire, and penned with eager, exciting fingers, a brief, but 
judging from her countenance and shining eyes, a very em- 
phatic letter. 

Aunt Margery looked over her shoulder and read as she 
wrote, nodding and smiling, and throwing, now and then, 
a keen, bright glance at Vashti. The letter was folded, 


282 


HOPE DEFERRED. 


sealed, and directed, ready for Philip to take to the office in 
the morning, and then with her bright air slowly fading out, 
Nora relapsed into her own sadly foreboding thoughts. 

The week passed, and another, and no answer came to 
that eager letter. Nora made no allusion to it, but if pos- 
sible she was more than ever tender to Vashti. 

One morning, weary with a long confinement, first in 
the heated kitchen, then in Elise's sick-room, and after- 
ward reading to her sister, she had thrown a shawl over 
her head, and was slowly walking down the road from the 
house. Miss Gresham came out and joined her. 

“Nora,” she said, “what is it you are grieving about? 
Is this poverty-stricken life really killing you ?” 

“Oh ! Aunt Margery, I am trying to be patient. I am 
trying, but I want my friend, my brother. God forgive 
me, I have tried to give him up to His hands freely, but 
my heart is very sore. This uncertainty is terrible.” 

Her lips quivered as she spoke, and her voice thrilled 
with sharp pain. 

“ He will come again, my child. I know — I know he 
will ; he must,” Miss Gresham answered, hoarse with emo- 
tion, and went in. 

Nora sauntered on toward the highway. 

The morning was a bright one, sharp and cold, per- 
haps, but exhilarating, and unconsciously the spirits of 
the girl rose at every step. At the gate she paused, lean- 
ing upon it in musing attitude, while up the road a little 
way off a gentleman, muffled to the chin in fur wrappings, 
was coming toward her at a brisk pace. She had not ob- 
served him, and as he came nearer he slackened his step 
a little, came up almost on tiptoe, throwing back his fur 
wrappings a trifle, and taking his fur cap off. He looked, 
a handsome gentleman, with his bronzed but fresh- 


HOPE DEFERRED, 


283 


expressioned face, and his laughing, bright eyes on Nora — 
dear, unconscious Nora Everleigh, with her crossed hands 
on the old gate, and her tender brown eyes watching the 
sunlight among the tree-tops. 

The stranger smiled brightly to himself, as he looked at 
the fair vision, and dropping cap and gloves, with familiar 
impulsiveness he covered the clasped hands with his. 

Noras upward gaze reverted suddenly to more earth tly 
things. All the red faded out of her startled face, as she 
met his smiling glance, and she looked at him with 
scared eyes. 

“ Don't you know me, Nora, my little Nora?" he said, 
almost reproachfully. 

Scarlet blushes covered her face, like a rose blushing 
into sudden bloom, and pulling her hands away from him, 
she covered her eyes with them, and burst into tears. 

He looked pained and surprised, but waited a little be- 
fore he said : 

“Are you, then, sorry to see me ?” 

“Ah, sir,” she cried, almost frantically, “I thought 
you would never, never come !” 

“That is it, is it?” he said, picking up his cap and 
gloves, and coming inside the gate. “ I wrote you word 
I was coming more than two weeks ago. ” 

She was drying her tears, but her lips still quivered as 
she said : 

“ I haven't heard a word from you for six long months.” 

He smiled as he took her trembling hands again in his, 
saying : 

“Well, I have written you once in two weeks all the 
time. I did not hear from you, either, but I believed you 
were safe, for all that. ” 


284 


CONFESSIONS. 


“But the ocean, sir — the great, cruel, trackless ocean — 
I was afraid of it. ” 

“Poor child he said, with his kind eyes reading her 
face, “have you got all this pain and wanness of look 
grieving for me ? v 

“I shall be well and rosy now,” she said, blushing f 
“but you have come to a sad house, sir.” 

In a few brief words she told him the sorrowful events of 
the last six months, and, with her hand on his arm, they 
went slowly up to the house. 

Vashti’s face flushed warmly as he greeted her ; she was 
glad to see him, but turned away to hide the pallor that 
instantly succeeded, as she thought of a pale, dead form at 
the bottom of the ocean. 

Miss Gresham gave way to unwonted emotion at sight of 
him. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

CONFESSIONS. 

Leon watched the course of things a few days without 
comment, and then, one evening, he said to Miss 
Gresham : 

‘ ‘ Margery, cousin, I don’t understand this at all. How 
is it that you are all so poor ? The Everleigh funds were 
not all in one bank.” 

She raised her hand as if she would silence him, and 
looked with meaning significance at Nora, who stood near 
Vashti, with the fire-light ruddying her fair, soft features. 

He looked surprised, and Nora followed the expression 
of his eyes to her aunt’s shadowed face. 


CONFESSIONS. 285 

Miss Margery hesitated an instant, and then coming 
nearer, said, with a half defiant manner : 

“ I may as well tell it now as any time, I suppose. The 
Everleighs are just as rich to-day as they ever were ; there 
was only a mere fraction of their money in that bank. 
Don’t look at me that way, Leon ; I have told nothing but 
the truth. I never pretended they were poor, though I 
meant to make them think so. I wrote Vashti and Frank 
that the bank was broken, and I guessed they would have 
to come home. They inferred the rest. I sent the ser- 
vants off, true ; but .it was at Nora's suggestion. I never 
said anything more to her than that the bank was broken, 
though I meant she should think just as she did, that they 
had become poor." 

Vashti grew a shade paler at this announcement — it 
called up most painful recollections ; and Nora with a be- 
wildered air crossed the hearth, and, with her hand on her 
aunt's arm, said ; 

“Aunt Margery, what did you do so for?" 

She shook her hand from her arm, with the same ex- 
pression of hard defiance, and, addressing herself still to 
Leon, said : 

“It has been all that I have lived for these sixteen years 
— to save these children from their father's fate. Vashti 
grew up to tell me — ay, and to prove it to me — that I had 
made a terrible mistake. I did — I did, Heaven forgive 
me ! You would have thought that would have cured me 
of experimenting, wouldn't you? But it didn't. When I 
knew that the proud, beautiful girl that I loved as my own 
life had sought the whirl of fashionable life for the same 
purpose that the suicide seeks the river bank — when I 
knew that Frank was gambling, and drinking, and horse- 
racing with the same bitter, self-destructive end in view, 


286 


CONFESSIONS . 


I said to myself, ‘the end justifies the means/ and I wrote 
that letter that brought them both home at last.” 

With a wild cry Vashti staggered to her feet. 

“Too late, too late?” she cried, tossing her arms wildly, 
and trying, with her frantic, uncertain steps, to approach 
her aunt. “Oh, woman, woman, why was your wisdom 
so tardy? Two weeks earlier would have saved us both. 
Ah, Father in Heaven, thy retribution is fearful !” She 
reeled with a dreary moan ; Leon and Nora placed her again 
in her chair, wailing, as she smote her seared eyeballs, 
“but it is just — it is just !” 

Miss Gresham’s bowed form shook convulsively, as she 
said : 

“It was too late to save him — Frank, oh, Frank !” 

She was silent a few moments, and no one spoke, only 
Nora, who, lifting her aunt’s hand, kissed it passionately. 
She snatched it from her. 

“I don’t deserve it — I don’t deserve it ! See, Leon, how 
this pure-faced girl loves the old aunt that has wrung her 
heart so. I wanted to try her too, Leon ; I wanted to see 
if the evil spirit of her race had indeed been exorcised by 
the Wisdom above mine.” 

“And what did you conclude?” Leon said, with a glance 
of exquisite tenderness toward the fair face that answered 
his glance with flushes. 

“I concluded that she was as pure as the snow ; without 
spot or blemish on her soul. I intercepted your letters and 
hers, but in all that heart-ache consequent upon not hear- 
ing from you, she never faltered from what she considered 
her duty, or fell away into reproach or complaint. ” 

Nora had leaned her forehead against the ebon-hued jamb 
of the fire-place at this allusion to the letters, and tears were 
falling at remembrance of the pain she had endured. 


CONFESSIONS . 


287 


“Will Nora forgive Aunt Margery all that sorrow and 
pain?” 

The girl lifted her wet face, struggling with her emotion 
as she said, yielding her hand to her aunt : 

“I don't think you were right, Aunt Margery ; it almost 
broke my heart, but I forgive you. ” 

‘ f She is yours, Leon, all yours, ” said Margery, pushing 
her toward him slightly. ‘ ‘ I give her to you. ” 

Nora drew back, scarlet even to her temples, and Leon, 
with an embarrassed laugh, left the room. Vashti lifted 
her head from her hands to say : 

“Aunt Margery, I have been a wayward, bad girl, reck- 
less and defiant of everything that crossed my willful 
path. Aunt Margery, forgive me all those cruel words I 
have said to you, and pray God will exorcise my evil spirit, 
as He has Nora's.” 

“Vashti,” she said, and broke down. “Vashti,” she 
began again, with her trembling hands upon her head, as if 
in benediction, “God bless and forgive us both; it is not 
for me to forgive you for yielding to the bitterness of 
your heart.” 

Half an hour after Vashti was in her own apartment, and 
Nora was softly pacing the sitting-room, alone, and with no 
light but that which came from the fire-place. 

Presently, with his quiet step, Leon Brownlee came into 
the room and joined her in her silent walk. 

» She did not look up, and when he took her small hand 
( in his she only looked away toward the fire, and by its light 
her face flushed brightly. 

He drew her toward the hearth, gathered the other hand 
in his, and putting from her cheek the curl that vailed it, 
said : 

“Does Nora give herself to me?” 


2SS 


DA SCO MB— VA SHTl 


She drooped an instant before him with blushes trooping 
over her confused face, and then in the old, outspoken 
way, lifted her shy, brown eyes to his, saying : 

“Nora gave herself to you long ago; she is all yours/' 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

DASCOMB VASHTI. 

One drear}-, cold day in December, the Hermitage lost 
the last tenant it was destined to have. Death came and 
claimed the poor idiot, and they broke the frozen clods in 
the little valleyed burial-place, and laid beneath them all 
that was left of Roscoe Everleigh. 

In due time all the old servants, or just as good ones, 
found their way back to Everleigh. Elise recovered, and 
there settled upon the old place such a real tranquillity as 
it had never before known, but which, alas ! was destined 
to be once more rudely broken in upon. 

One evening, when summer had come again, Vashti 
happened to be alone in the sitting-room. The bay-win- 
dow was open, and from the music-room came the sound 
of Nora’s soft, sweet voice and delicate touch upon the 
piano. 

Suddenly a bold, handsome, wicked face was lifted above 
the sill of the open window, and as quickly withdrawn. 
In an instant it lifted itself again more slowly and peered 
about the room. Nobody there but blind Vashti. 

In less time than it takes to tell it, the form that belonged 
to the handsome, wicked face, followed it, and a man 
leaped lightly into the room. Sleek, black-haired and 
black-whiskered, with his white teeth shining between his 


DA SCO MB— VA SHTL 


289 


lips, and as impudent an air as ever, but with a flurry and 
discomposure under it all, he crossed the room, and stood 
with his arm suddenly thrown around her, and his breath 
on her cheek, as he said : 

“Vashti.” 

It was the voice she had dreaded and feared to hear, all 
these years that lay between her and this man, who so near- 
ly wedded her to himself and infamy. 

She wrenched herself from him as though a serpent had 
stung her, and without a cry or utterance of any kind, be- 
gan to grope her way to the door. 

In an instant he had closed it, and stood with his back to 

it. 

“Do you want me to scream, and rouse the house to 
thrust you forth ?” she said, recoiling as his hand touched 
her. “Is not the cup of my degradation full? Go, while 
I have life and sense left !” 

Not in the least abashed before the majesty of those sight- 
less eyes, he said, boldly : 

“Vashti, that woman who was between us, is dead. I 
come to ask you truly to be my wife.” 

An expression of bitter hatred, loathing, scorn, con- 
vulsed her face, as she broke a third time from him, scream- 
ing and fleeing across the room to the other door. 

It was scarce an instant, when the door burst open, and 
Nora, Miss Gresham, and the servants crowded in. 

“What is it, sister?” Nora cried, with her arms around 
Vashti, who stood with her sightless eyes wide open, and her 
hands uplifted. 

“That bad man ! drive him out! Philip — Hubert ! the 
bold, bad, infamous wretch ! — he ran by me ” 

All looked about them. There was no one in the room 
but that belonged to the house. 


290 


DA SCO MB— VA SHTI. 


“ There is no one here, Vashti,” Nora said. 

“He has hid. I am certain he has.” 

There was a bustle, and the sound of voices in the great 
hall. Philip and Hubert hurried out, and the rest followed, 
except Vashti and Nora. 

It was Dascomb struggling in the grasp of two officers of 
justice, who had stealthily followed him to Everleigh, and 
nabbed him just as he was again escaping therefrom. They 
assured the poor wretch, in language more plain than polite, 
that he was sure to hang, and explained to Philip and the 
gaping servants, that this fellow, this Percy Dascomb, had 
murdered his wife ! 

With a sudden and violent effort, the man loosed him- 
self, and darted through the throng. 

The officers were quick after him, however, and overtook 
him in the sitting-room. 

He had thrown himself at Vashti s feet, and as the 
offices touched him again, cried with the fiercest appealing : 

“Give me one instant to speak with this lady, and I will 
go with you peaceably. Forgive — forgive!” he frantically 
implored as without heeding his entreaty, they were seizing 
him. 

Involuntarily they paused a moment. He turned his 
wild, agonized face on Nora, crying, madly : 

“Intercede for me. Tell her that, wicked as I have 
been, I loved her. Beg her to forgive me the wrong I 
was going to do her, by her hopes of Heaven, to stretch 
forth her innocent hands, and say, ‘I forgive you.' Tell 
her my hands are red with blood for love of her ! Curse 
you, villains ! wait, wait. Oh ! Vashti, I am going to 
judgment with a rope around my neck, and so sure as you 
do not forgive me, I will bear witness against you ! There, 
curses on you, villains ! she was going to speak to me. ” 


DA SCO MB— VA SHTI. 


291 


They bore him, struggling, out of the room, and out- 
side the door proceeded to secure his hands with strong 
cords. 

Yashti leaned on Nora, looking faint and death-like. 

“ Lead me to him/' she whispered to Nora. 

These rude men fell back as she approached and laid 
her thin, white hand on the head of the kneeling wretch. 

“May God forgive me my own sins as freely as I for- 
give you, Percy Dascomb," she said, solemnly. 

The wretched man covered his face with his hands. 
Nora led her sister back into the sitting-room, and the 
officers bore him quietly and with some expedition from 
the house. Vashti sank into a seat, sobbing hysterically. 

“What a degraded being I have been/' she said, “to 
have ever fancied I loved such a man 1 Oh ! Nora, my 
punishment is heavy, but I deserve it all. " 

“Perhaps there is some great joy in store for you," Nora 
said, soothingly ; “who knows?" 

Vashti shook her head sadly, but the next moment her 
own rare smile broke faintly over her lips, as she said : 

“I shall find it beyond the grave. I wait in hope." 

What unaccountable impulse prompted Nora to say : 

“What if, after all, your husband were living, Vashti " 

“If he was, if he was — oh, Nora, on my knees I would 
implore him, as poor Percy did me, to forgive me ; to 
take the poor, blind girl to his heart. He would never 
shrink from me because I am blind. He would love me 
so. I should be his wife, as I ought to have been from 
the instant I took wifely vows upon me. He would have 
saved me, perhaps, from this " 

She drew her hands across her eyes as she spoke, sigh" 
ing deeply. 


292 


LETTERS, 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

LETTERS. 

Nora Everleigh and Leon Brownlee were to have been 
married in June, but immediately after the incidents re- 
lated in the last chapter, she wrote him a letter, which 
ultimately was the means of postponing the wedding-day 
to an indefinite period. She had never before told him of 
Vashti’s secret marriage, and her unhappy history since, 
for a feeling of delicacy toward the unfortunate girl had 
restrained her from confiding the sad and humiliating par- 
ticulars even to her promised husband. Now, however, 
she felt impelled, from a hope that he might be able to 
render important assistance, to lay the whole matter before 
him. A portion of this letter I will extract from : 

“As I was one day looking over the columns of a late 
paper, I came upon the announcement that Professor Rob- 
ert Thorpe, who had been believed to have been lost by 
the wreck of the Europa, had made his appearance in the 
city, greatly to the surprise and joy of his friends, having 
been picked up by an outward-bound ship. I immediately 
wrote to him, informing him of Vashti’s blindness, and 
begging him, if he still cared for her, to come and see her, 
or commuicate with me on the subject. I never received 
any answer, and concluded that he wished to cast her off 
on account of her misfortune, or else that there was some 
mistake about his having escaped from the shipwreck. 
Latterly, however, I begin to suspect myself that I have 
been hasty in my judgment. Will you, dear Leon, make 
the necessary inquiries and let me know? I have never 
told my sister that I had reason to think her husband alive. 


LETTERS . 


2 93 


Better that she should never know it if he repudiates her 
because she is blind.” 

To this letter, in due time, Nora received the following 
answer : 

“My Dear Nora: — Dlearn, upon inquiry, that Profes- 
sor Robert Thorpe was living some three months since. 
He did escape shipwreck, and there is no doubt that it is 
the man you are inquiring for. I have every reason to 
think that he was here at the time you wrote, and that be- 
ing the case, he could hardly have missed receiving your 
letter. An intimate friend of his here tells me a very in- 
tricate story of the gentleman's enthrallment years ago by 
a Miss Bond — that she jilted him for a Mr. Clair. He says 
that Professor Thorpe never recovered from the shock of her 
heartless conduct, and that he never forgot his love for her, 
but that when he met her a widow — Mrs. St. Clair — he 
was completely fascinated by her attractions. He is now, 
or was at last accounts, in Paris, whither, it is popularly 
averred, he has followed Mrs. St. Clair. This may be all 
gossip, and it may have its foundation in truth. I intend 
to sift the matter immediately, and shall only wait till I 
hear from you to set off in search of him. Necessarily, 
this trip will postpone our wedding-day ; but if I bring re- 
joicing for the heart of our dear Vashti, we shall not regret 
it, and even if the worst should prove true, and Thorpe be 
a villain, at least there will be some comfort in having all 
uncertainty removed. ” 


*94 


DOUBTS AND ANXIETY. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

DOUBTS AND ANXIETY. 

Arrived at Paris, Leon made diligent inquiries after Pro- 
fessor Robert Thorpe. A young American gentleman 
whom he stumbled upon at length put him on his track. 
Mrs. St. Clair was just now holding a sort of miniature 
court a little way out of Paris. Thorpe was in her suite ; 
doubtless he would find him there. 

With great misgiving Leon sought and inquired for 
Mrs. St. Clair, to whom he had letters. She received him 
immediately, was enchantingly smiling and polite to him 
as a countryman, and because of his distingue air. 

Madam herself was very lovely, and she knew it, and was 
disposed to take this call of Leon’s as a courtesy to herself. 
He humored her vanity, and, in the course of the spark- 
ling chit-chat that followed, introduced Thorpe’s name. 

Mrs. St. Clair's eyes lightened at the name. Yes, he 
was here, she believed ; and Leon explained by saying that 
he held a letter of introduction for him from a mutual 
friend. 

The professor was sent for, and the introduction took 
place. Leon said nothing of his errand, representing him- 
self as at Paris on business, but disposed to glean some 
pleasure also from the trip, which indeed was very true. 
He was anxious to observe for himself a little before open- 
ing to Thorpe the object of his journey, and accordingly 
accepted immediately Mrs. St. Clair’s invitation to remain 
a few days at her country-seat. 

He retired soon to his room to dress for dinner. At 
table he found a large company assembled — ladies and 


DOUBTS AND ANXIETY. 


295 


gentlemen, a gay party — not the least conspicuous among 
whom was Thorpe, who kept the ball of conversation roll- 
ing ; but Leon noticed that his wit was inclined to be of 
the satirical order, and that while others laughed at the 
dons mots he was continually flashing round, he himself 
never smiled. 

After dinner, all day, and during the evening, he lounged 
near Mrs. St. Clair, who seemed, somehow, tacitly relin- 
quished to him by the others. He was attentive to that 
lady ; but Leon, while he pronounced him an evident ad- 
mirer of Mrs. St. Clair, characterized him as an exceed- 
ingly cold wooer, and he explained his restless demeanor 
as caused by a remembrance of his unfortunate entangle- 
ment with that poor blind girl at Everleigh. 

In course of conversation one day he dropped some allu- 
sion to Everleigh. Thorpe started at the name, and, 
changing color, walked quickly away to the window, evi- 
dently considerably moved from his usual cold self-posses- 
sion. He took occasion later in the day, as the two were 
walking on the terrace, to inquire if Mr. Brownlee was ac- 
quainted at Everleigh. 

Mr. Brownlee's reply that he was shortly to be married 
to Miss Lenore Everleigh he received with a greatly sur- 
prised air. 

“I may as well tell you," Leon said, coldly, 4 'that my 
business here is entirely with you. I wish to know, as a 
person delegated by your wife's friends, whether — what your 
intentions are with regard to that unhappy lady?" 

Thorpe stared, growing slightly pale, while he said, quite 
as coldly as Leon had spoken : 

"Come this way, sir; here we are liable to being over- 
heard and interrupted." 

Leon followed, with a slightly curling lip, to the Profes- 


296 DOUBTS AND ANXIETY, 

sor’s own room. Arrived there, Thorpe gave him a seat, 
and himself standing, said, haughtily : 

“Now, if you please, sir, state the object of your mission 
to me.” 

“Your wife supposes you dead and mourns your loss. 
Her friends, knowing that you still live, have delegated me 
to ascertain definitely, and from your own lips, what your 
intentions may be with regard to her. ” 

“Good Heaven!’' said Thorpe, striking the table with 
his clenched fist, “and is this the account I am called to 
after the cruel martyrdom I have endured?” 

“I should judge you were passing the time quite pleas- 
antly, from the little I have seen,” said Leon, somewhat 
nettled by the angiy vehemence of Thorpe’s gesture and 
voice. 

“I don't know what you have seen, sir,” said the pro- 
fessor, “but I call it the sheerest kind of aggravation when 
a man stays, at her express dictation, from a woman who 
is his wife only in name. I call it the most insulting form 
of aggravation for her friends or anybody else to call a man 
to amount under such circumstances. There, sir, I call 
that definite language. If my wife — if that woman sup- 
poses me dead, let her continue to do so.” 

“ Most certainly we shall, having definitely ascertained 
your feeling toward her. Her misfortunes are already hard 
enough to bear ; rest assured we shall not add to her bur- 
dens by informing her that the man she has deemed the 
soul of honor, casts her off because of those very misfor- 
tunes. ” 

“It is false!” Thorpe cried, hotly. “It was her own 
deed that sent me from her. Did she not bind me by the 
most solemn of oaths never to approach her, save when she 
summoned me?” 


DOUBTS AND ANXIETY. 


297 


“It was a strange oath for a husband to make to a wife. 
If she was indeed so dear to you, how came you to take 
such an oath ?” 

Thorpe made a gesture of the most fiery impatience. 
“Your question is a most insulting one. Nevertheless, 
I will answer it. For the sake of calling her mine I would 
have foresworn eternity. It was the only condition on 
which she would even suffer the ceremony of marriage to 
be said over us — a mockery it was, too ; the bitterest and 
most hollow of mockeries. I never dreamed that she 
would exact the fulfillment of so monstrous a vow. Don't 
tell me I cast her off, sir, when I have entreated her by 
every law, human or divine, to cancel that oath. In 
despair, at last, I ceased even to write to her. I tried to 
forget, though I might as well have tried to forget myself; 
and, after all, the only excuse she can find for my silence, 
is that I am dead." 

Leon Brownlee rose from his seat in much agitation. 
“There is some strange mistake here. Vashti was not 
the only one who supposed you dead. Your death, the 
announcement of your loss by shipwreck, was in all the 
papers of your city. ” ^ 

“And almost immediately contradicted ” 

“I know nothing of that, and I know that they knew 
nothing of it at Everleigh till months after. Then Lenore 
Everleigh blundered upon that account of your almost 
miraculous escape from death, and wrote Immediately to 
you, without Vashti’s knowledge. ” 

“And why without her knowledge?" 

“ Lest the shock of your desertion of her in the hour of 
her greatest calamity should kill her. ” 

“Sir, this is an idle play upon words. There was no 
desertion in the case— at least, none on my part M 


298 


DOUBTS AND ANXIETY. 


“What else could you call it after the receipt of that 
letter ?” 

“I never received any letter, and if I had, should not 
have considered myself authorized to force myself on my 
wife even, at any other summons than her own.” 

“ I repeat, Professor Thorpe, that there is some terrible 
mistake. Do you know that Vashti — is it possible that 
you do not know that our Vashti is blind ?” 

“Sir! sir! Blind !” 

“ Blind.” 

Thorpe looked like a man suddenly stricken with a 
thunderbolt. He stood staring at Leon, as though bereft 
of motion. 

“What do you mean, sir?” 

“I mean that the lightning struck her; that she is 
blind, utterly and hopelessly so ; that she is a wreck of 
her former self, but incomparably more interesting now 
than she was ever before. If less beautiful, she is far 
lovelier ; and if I were her husband, I would see these 
hands severed from my body rather than relinquish my 
right to guide her steps to the end of this life. ” 

The strong man tottered as he approached Leon, and 
grasping his hand warmly, said, in a tremulous voice : 

“Pardon me, pardon me! I have felt angry, despair- 
ing, and vengeful. If I had done my duty and hovered in 
her vicinity, I should have known this sooner ; I should 
have had the precious consolation of — but will she receive 
me, Mr. Brownlee, even now will she receive me ?” 

“There is not a doubt of it; she is very much changed. 
But, Professor Thorpe, I want to ask you — and do not an- 
swer the question if it seems to you too great a liberty 
— how did she come to exact so singular an oath from 


THE MEETING . 


299 


“Her father is a madman/' 

“Was — he is dead.” 

1 1 Madness is said to be hereditary in the family — she be- 
lieved she would come to that at last, and therefore was de- 
termined to keep our fates separate. She called herself 
taciturn and gloomy, and said that constant companionship 
with her would make me hate her at last. ” 

“Singular girl ! Were not your fates indissolubly con- 
nected by that contract of marriage?” 

“There was a time when I hesitated on account of that 
hereditary taint, but before the invincibleness of my pas- 
sion, all such obstacles crumbled. I thought if she would 
let me, I could save her even from that. ” 

Thorpe changed the subject to a discussion of ways and 
means to reach home with all the expedition possible, and 
looked already a changed man — much of the gloom of his 
manner being lost in an impatient and feverish joyfulness, 
that displayed itself in every movement. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE MEETING. 

The voyage was sufficiently tempestuous and lingering to 
give the Messrs. Thorpe and Brownlee an opportunity to 
draw largely on their united stock of patience. At the 
wharf they took conveyance for Everleigh, with that head- 
long haste that usually characterizes lovers. 

As Thorpe was rushing with frantic haste up the avenue, 
Leon seized him by the arm. 

“Are you crazed?” he said. “Vashti is very feeble, a 
sudden shock like this might kill her. Besides you need 


306 


THE MEETING. 

to prepare yourself for the great change you will find in her 
appearance ” 

“Good Heaven! Brownlee, what if she should still re- 
fuse to let me see her. ” 

He reeled against a tree as he spoke, dizzy with emotion. 

“Keep up, man — keep up; there is no danger of that, 
but you must be calm. Sit here and compose yourself 
while I go into the house. I will come back for you very 
soon . 99 

Nora and Vashti were both in a little parlor opening 
from the great hall. Both still wore their black dresses, 
relieved, however, with delicate lace ruffles at the neck and 
wrists. In the faces of both, there was something that 
glowed purely and brightly, as though a lamp of peace 
burned within. Nora bent over some fragile bit of work, 
talking in her soft, yet strong tones. There was softness 
and dignity too in her air; and Vashti paced the floor, 
something after the old fashion, for the subject under dis- 
cussion was a moving one, but with her slender white hand 
upon the wall as she stepped. Vashti was tall, straight, and 
elegant, somewhat too taper in her thin shape, somewhat 
too colorless as to her pale, oval face, to set the minds of 
her friends quite at rest about her health. Nora’s brown 
eyes, which were now and then lifted to her sister’s face, 
were suddenly intercepted by the sight of Leon standing 
silently in the doorway. 

All over her face went a flush of emotion ; she had self- 
possession to be silent with her questioning eyes on his 
face. 

He smiled and bowed, pointing through the window at 
which she sat. 

With a hurried movement she saw Thorpe a little way 


THE MEETING. 


301 


off, pretending to dodge behind the trees, but unable to 
keep his hungry eyes back from their quest. 

She put her finger on her tremulous lip with an emphatic 
warning gesture, and, dropping her work, went and put 
both arms round her sister's neck. 

‘ ‘ I believe God is going to give you a great joy, sister, " 
she said, gently. 

Vashti returned her caress. 

“God is good, dear," she answered, as gently. 

“Could you bear to hear a very great, grand piece of 
news ?" kissing her. 

“News, Nora — what news could affect me? Let me 
see — I expect no news that I can think of. What can it 
be ?" playfully, and with brightly-interested expression. 

“Something you don't expect, Vashti — think. What 
would you ask God to do for you this minute, if you were 
going to crave the removal of one of the afflictions he has 
laid on you ?" 

Bravely Nora kept her agitation out of her voice. 

Vashti struggled a moment with some rising emotion. 

‘ ‘ Nora, Nora ! why do you ask me that ? Mamma can- 
not come back to me. " 

“No; but somebody else might," restraining herself 
with difficulty from tears, and with her tones broken in 
spite of her. 

“What is it you mean ?" Vashti exclaimed, seizing her 
passionately, and the next instant losing her nold. “I 
should indeed be presumptuous to hope that " 

She paused, and seemed lost in thought. Nora scarcely 
breathed as she watched her sister. 

Vashti put her hand on Nora's face. 

“There are tears on your cheek, and your voice did 


302 


THE MEETING. 


tremble with joy. Nora — Nora — can the sea give up its 
dead ? Speak to me, Nora, or I shall die !” 

“ Sister, I have heard that he still lived — that ” 

There was a noise at the window. Vashti turned her 
whitening face toward it, with her arms extended, and her 
sightless eyes wide open. 

“My God, if I could only see ! Nora ” 

“My darling ! my darling ! I have come back to you !” 

He had sprung through the open window into the room 
— he had her in his arms, and she clung to him as though 
she would never let him go. 

Nora looked anxiously at her sister. Leon drew her 
away, saying, tenderly: 

“She is in safe hands; he will not let her die.” 

They went out quietly into the hall, closing the door 
after them — a fair, beautiful pair — love, purity, and truth 
in their hearts and on their brows. Her hand was in his, 
and his arm round her, as they went down the steps and 
out into the misty twilight that was gathering. Nora cast, 
now and then, apprehensive glances back toward the 
parlor, but all still seemed tranquil there. 

“We will be married one week from to-day, Nora,” 
Leon said, caressing the little hand he held. “Can you 
be ready?” 

There were still tears in her brown eyes, but she flashed 
a shy glance at him, as she said “Yes, sir,” in her usual 
prompt style. 

He answered her with a warmer caress, and said : 

“ My father and mother will be here Tuesday. I dropped 
them a line to that effect as I came along. ” 

“Will they like me, do you think?” 

“I am very much inclined to think they will,” he said, 


THE MEETING, 


303 


laughing at her anxious tone. "Indeed, I haven't a sin- 
gle doubt of it. ” 

As Nora and Leon left the parlor, Vashti tore herself 
from her husband s passionate clasp, and laid her beautiful 
head in the dust at his feet. In vain he tried to lift her. 

"Here! here!" she moaned, "here is my place till I 
have confessed and been forgiven ! Oh, Robert — my hus- 
band — sit down and hold my head upon your knees, if you 
will, till I have told you !” 

She made him sit down. She knelt and poured forth 
all that burning recital of her life of pain and bitterness. 
She sounded the depths of the resentful nature that had 
been hers relentlessly, and showed him how all her life she 
had gleaned and garnered only chaff and wormwood out 
of the beautiful harvest with which God had folded her 
way. She did not spare herself in the least, neither in her 
errors nor their expiation. 

Thorpe sat in stilled awe under the torrent of her 
eloquent outpouring. When she ceased speaking he drew 
her resistless again to his arms, caressing her tenderly. 

She roused him by saying : 

"I knew you would love me none the less." 

With an impulsive movement he pressed kiss after kiss 
on her brow and lips. 

"More — more, a thousand times, my wife. I like your 
proud spirit dependent on me — on me, alone." 

"But I’m not proud now," she said, clinging to him ; 
"my pride is all gone. I am only a broken reed — 
humble, suppliant, dependent on God and you as a little 
child." 

When Nora and Leon entered the room soon after, the 
professor was still supporting Vashti. Both had been 


304 


THE MEETING. 


weeping. She raised her head from his shoulder, her 
blushes making her cheeks look like carnations. 

Nora came to her swiftly, and with one arm round her 
sister, extended her other hand to the professor, saying : 

“Everleigh is glad to see you, sir.” 

* * * * * * * 

At the appointed time Leon and Nora were married. 
They had a grand, gay wedding. Leon would have it so. 
He meant their united lives should, from that hour, be 
one gay summer time. They lived at Everleigh, except 
at brief intervals, during which they visited their mutual 
relatives, or traveled to other climes, both for pleasure and 
profit. 

Professor Robert Thorpe resumed that place in the 
world which he had once cast disdainfully from him — in 
the days when he was hopeless and despairing. He be- 
came, in many senses, a different man, from companion- 
ship with his wife's pure and simple faith. 

Philip lived to a hale old age — lived to acknowledge with 
wondernment and something of awe that the Curse of 
Everleigh was removed. 

Margery Gresham died in Nora s arms, thanking God 
that He had done so well the work for which she had 
proved herself so incompetent. 


THE END. 


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ANOTHER 



'S WIFE 


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By BEBTHA M. OLAY. 

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the qualities of style that have made the author so popular. It is the first 
issue of the new Primrose Series.— Boston Globe , Sept. 16. 

“Another Man’s Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay, Street & Smith’s Primrose 
Series, is a laudable effort toward the repression of the growing evil of 
matrimonial disloyalty. The book is handsomely bound, with a holiday 
look about it .— Brooklyn Eagle , Sept. 15. 

v 

Street & Smith of New York publish in cloth cover “Another Man’s 
Wife,” by Bertna M. Clav. The story is effective. It impressively depicts 
the results certain to attend the sins of deception. It teaches a lesson that 
will not be lost upon those thoughtless men and women who, only intent 
upon pleasure, little dream of the pitfall before them, and to which they are 
blind until exposure wrecks happiness .— Troy (A. F.) Press, 

Street & Smith, New York, have brought out in book-form “Another 
Man’s Wife.” This is one of Bertha M. Clay’s most effective stories.— 
Cincinnati Enquirer, 

“Another Man’s Wife.” This is one of Bertha M. Clay’s most effective 
stories. It forcibly and impressibly portrays the evils certain to attend 
matrimonial deceit, clandestine interviews, and all the tricks and devices 
which imperil a wife’s honor. It has a novel and entrancingly interesting 

g lot, and abounds in vivid and dramatic incidents. It is the first issue of 
treet & Smith’s Primrose Edition of Copyright Novels, and will not appeal 
elsewhere .— Franklin Freeman, 


PRIMROSE EDITION 



2 . 


THE 


Belle of the Season, 


By Mrs. HARRIET LEWIS, 


is an intensely interesting story , and written in the 
best style of the gifted author. The large sales 

of this book are sufficient proof of its merit , 
and it is recommended to all lovers of 


first-class literature. 


The Belle of the Season. — This is a gracefully told love story, by 
Mrs. Harriet Lewis, abounding in dramatic action and extremely capti- 
vating incidents, The plot is a marvel of ingenuity, not at all extra- 
vagant, and the love scenes are very spiritedly depicted. The reader 
must admire the adroit manner in which the hero and heroine, after 
innumerable trials, temptations, and misunderstandings, overcome all 
obstacles to their union, and recognize each other’s worth. There is 
an underplot of deep interest which entrances the charm of romance, 
and every chapter developes novel and unexpected features. The 
Belle of the Season is one of Mrs. Lewis’ most entrancing works, 
and is likely to have a large sale . — Pittsburg Leader. 


For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or will be sent, postage 
free, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 50 cents, by the publishers, 


STREET & SMITH, 


25 to 31 Rose Street, New York, 


P. 0. Box 2734, 


PRIMROSE EDITION 

No. 5. 


Her Royal Lover, 

By ARY ECILAW, 

is a story of thrilling interest. The scenes are 
very dramatically drawn , and the characters 
graphically portrayed. 


Her Royal Lover. — This is an admirable translation of a fascinating 
romance from the French, by Ary Ecilaw. It appeals especially to 
wives who aim to attract admiration, and to husbands who are so 
jealous that “ trifles light as air” often disturb the serenity of the 
household. It brings the heroine close to the verge of disaster ; it is 
so artfully woven that the persistent secret wooer is on the eve of being 
rewarded for his duplicity ; and the maddened husband is about to be 
humiliated, when, lo ! utterly unexpected events expose rascality and 
vindicate the imprudent but faithful wife. The story is vigorously and 
dramatically narrated, with many strong situations, and never lags in 
action . — C hronicle. 


For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or will be sent, postage 
free, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 50 cents, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

P. 0. Box 2734, 25 to 31 Rose Street, New York. 


PRIMROSE EDITION 



Kathleen Douglas, 


By JULIA TRUITT BISHOP, 


is a pure and beautifully written love story. It is 
talked of by press and public alike , and 
is the sensation of the day. 


Kathleen Douglas. — Lite the plot of an artfully constructed play 
is this cleverly told romance, by Julia Truitt Bishop, of love and mys- 
tery. It is the story of a cruelly suspected yet innocent wife, against 
whom suspicions are aroused and disseminated by a rejected wooer — a 
man with the outward semblance of a saint, yet who conceals the 
heart of an insatiate wretch. The interest is heightened and artisti- 
cally sustained by making the daughter an inheritor of her mother’s 
supposed disgrace. The golden thread of a pleasing love episode is 
intertwined with the tragic element of the romance, and from the 
opening to the close the reader never loses sight of the heroine, the long- 
suffering but eventually rewarded Kathleen Douglas .— Baltimore News . 


For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or will be sent, postage 
free, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 50 cents, by the publishers, 


STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Rose Street, New York. 


P. 0. Box 2734, 


WOMEN’S SECRETS 


The public are at last permitted to take a peep into the 
wonderful and mysterious art of 

“HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL.” 

We will soon become a nation of Beauty. Bead how, in the table of 

CONTENTS : 

•THE VALUE OF PERSONAL BEAUTY.— This chapter relates to the beauty 
in “Genius,” “Strength,” “Religion,” “Poetry,” and “Chivalry.” 

THE HISTORY OF BEAUTY.— Mode of acquiring it by the people of different 
nations. What people are the most beautiful 1 ? 

VARIOUS STANDARDS OF BEAUTY.— Tastes of civilized and uncivilized 
people. The French definition of beauty. 

THE BEST STANDARD OF BEAUTY.— Defines the Head, Hair, Eyes, Cheeks, 
Ears, Nose, Mouth, Bosom, Limbs, and in fact every part of the human form. 

HOW TO RAISE BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN.— To newly married people, and 
those who contemplate entering the conjugal state, this chapter alone is 
well worth the price of the book. 

HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL.- This chapter is full of information, as it not only 
tells how to beautify every part of the form and.features, but gives recipes 
and cures for all the ailments which tend to mar or blemish. 

BEAUTY SLEEP.— To be beautiful it is not necessary to be like the bird that 
seeks its nest at sunset and goes forth again at sunrise. You will here find 
the required time to be spent in bed, the positions most conducive to health, 
facts regarding ventilation, bed-clothes, adornments, and other useful hints. 

BEAUTY FOOD.— Instructs how, when, and where to eat, and also treats of 
Digestion, Complexion, Foods which color the skin, etc. 

HOW TO BE FAT.— The information imparted in this chapter will be aVJon to 
thin, delicate women, as it tells what to eat and what to avoid, also what to 
drink and how to dress when nlumpness is desirable. 

HOW TO BE LEAN.— If corpulent women will carefully follow the instructions 
herein, they will be happy aud enjoy life. 

BEAUTY BATHING AND EXERCISE.— This chapter is intended for every 
one to read and profit by. There is no truer saying than “Cleanliness is next 
to Godliness.” 

EFFECTS OF MENTAL EMOTIONS ON BEAUTY.— After you read this, we 
feel safe in saying that you will not give way to anger, surprise, fright, grief, 
vexation, etc., but will [at all times strive to be cheerful and make the best 
of life. 

HOW BEAUTY IS DESTROYED. — The women are warned in this chapter 
against ’quack doctors and their nostrums, the dangers of overdosing, and 
irregular habits. 

HOW TO REMAIN BEAUTIFUL.— It is just as easy for those that are beauti- 
ful to remain so as to allow themselves to fade away like a flower which 
only blooms for a season. 

HOW TO ACQUIRE GRACE AND STYLE.— Without grace and style beauty 
is lost. They are as essential as a beautiful face. To walk ungracefully or 
awkwardly is not only vulgar but detrimental to the health. 

THE LANGUAGE OF BEAUTY.— This chapter will enable you to read a per- 
son and learn his or her character, without the use Of a phrenological chart. 

CORSETS.— When and what kind should be worn. How they were originated 
and by whom. 

CYCLING.— The latest craze for ladies is fully described in this chapter. 

WOMEN’S SECRETS ;"oiTHow to be Beautiful 

THE BEST SELLING BOOK OF THE DAY. 


•Just Out. Price 23 Cents. 

For Hale by all Newsdealers. 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Bose Street 


THE SEA AND SHORE SERIES 

OF 

POPULAR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT NOVELS, 

BY NOTABLE AUTHORS. 


3>Jo. 4. 



THE WEAVER’S WAR. 
By PROFESSOR WM. HENRY PECK, 

AUTHOR OF 


“Marlin Marduke,” “£15,000 Reward,” “Siballa, 
the Sorceress,” etc. 


From the very opening paragraph this powerful and intensely exciting 
romance enchains the attention and keeps curiosity constantly active. The 
scene opens in the manufacturing center of Lyons, during a troublesome 
period in her history, when the laboring classes strove to maintain theif 
rights against the nobility. The hero, whom fate has made an humble 
workman, finds opportunity for the display of those self-asserting qualities, 
which always force their possessor to the front in every contest. While 
most of the action is thrilling and dramatic, a captivating love episode is 
adroitly interwoven with the main thread of the romance. The mystery 
appertaining to the early life of the Locksmith, the appalling accusation 
which makes him the victim of unseen foes, his fortitude in the most trying 
positions, and his final vindication and reward, are forcibly and sympathetic 
cally set forth in this well constructed story. 


PRICE, 25 CENTS 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

p. O. Bex, 2734. 31 ROSE STREET, New York* 


THE 


No. i— WOMEN’S SECRETS ; or, How 

to be Beautiful. . . .25 

No. 2— MILL’S UNIVERSAL LETTER- 

WRITER 25 

No. 3— HERRMANN’S BLACK ART . 25 

No. 4— SELECT RECITATIONS AND 

READINGS. . . . 25 

No. 5— ZOLA’S FORTUNE-TELLER. . 25 
No. 6— BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE. . 25 
No. 7— ZOLA’S DREAM BOOK. . . 25 

No. 8— HOYLE’S GAMES. ... 25 

No. 9— HERRMANN’S TRICKS WITH 

CARDS 25 




These popular books are large type editions, well printed, well 
bound, and in handsome covers. For sale by all Booksellers and 
Newsdealers; or sent, postage free, on receipt of price, by the pub- 
lishers, STREET & SMITH, 

25, 27, 29 and 31 Rose Street, New York, 


S. & 8 


Jlanaal Library. 


No, 1— The Album -Writer’s Assistant 10 

No. 2— The Way to Dance 10 

No. 3— The Way to Do Magic 10 

No. 4— The Way to Write Letters 10 

No. 5— How to Behave in Society 10 

No. 6— Amateur’s Manual of Photography ... 10 

No. 7— Out- of- Door Sports 10 

No. 8— How to Do Business 10 

No. 0 -The Young Gymnast 10 

No. 10— The Hunter and Angler 10 

No. 11— Short- Hand for Everybody 10 

No. 12— The Taxidermist’s Manual 10 

No. 13— Biddles and Their Answers 10 

No. 14— The Peerless Reciter 10 

No. 15— The Young Elocutionist 10 

No. 16— CaUalian’s Easy Method of Ventriloquism 10 

No. 17— The Standard Reciter 10 

No. 18— Cupid’s Dream Book 10 

No. 19— Napoleon’s Book of Fate 10 

No. 20— The Imperial Fortune-Teller — 10 

These popular books are large type editions, well printed, well 
bound, and in handsome covers. For sale by all Booksellers and 
Newsdealers; or sent, postage free, on receipt of price, by the pub- 
lishers, STREET & SMITH, 

25, 27, 29 and 31 Bose Street, New York, 



A FIRST-CLASS PAPER FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 

ISSUED WEEKLY. PRICE 5 CENTS PER COPY. 


Stories are constantly running through the columns of Good News 


from the pens of 
v. 

WM. H. THOMES, 
OLIVER OPTIC, 
HORATIO ALGER, Jr., 
GEO. H. COOMER, 
CHAS. BARNARD, 
JAMES OTIS, 
EDWARD S. ELLIS, 
HARRY CASTLEMON 


CAPTAIN MACY, 

W. B. LAWSON, 

Lieut. LOUNSBERRY, 
M. QUAD, 

Lieut. JAS. K. ORTON, 
MAX ADELER, 
“FRANK,” Author of 
“Smart Aleck.” 


The illustrations and typographical appearance of Good News are 
in keeping with the high literary merit ©f its contents. We aim to 
produce 

The Best Weekly of the Times for Boys and Girls, 

and, by virtue of our long experience, we have won for Good News the 
first place in the popular favor of all young Americans. 


We will send you No. 1 to No. 10 Good News, inclusive, for 10 cents, 
as samples. 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 


P. O. Box 2734. 


25 to 31 Bose Street, New York, 


$ 50 , 147 . 00 ! 


This large sum repre- 
dents the cost of the 
reading matter and il- 
lustrations that ap- 
peared during the past 
year in Street 4 Smith’s 
New York Weekly, the 
best Story and Sketch 
Paper in the world. 

For sale by all Book- 
sellers and Newsdeal- 
ers. $3.00 a year by 
mail . 

STREET 4 SMITH, 

31 Rose St . , 

New York. 



THE FINEST ON EARTH 


THE ONLY 

Pullman Perfected Safety 


YESTIBULED TUffl SERfICE 

WITH DINING- CAR 


BETWEEN 

CINCINNATI, 

INDIANAPOLIS, 

AND CHICAGO. 


THE FAVORITE LINE 

CINCINNATI to ST. LOUIS, 

Keokuk, Springfield, 

find Peoria, 


THE ONLY DIRECT LINE 

BETWEEN 

Cincinnati, Dayton, Findlay, 

Lima, Toledo, Detroit, 

THE LAKE REGIONS tnd CANADA. 


PULLMAN SLEEPERS ON NIGHT TRAINS. 

Parlor and Chair Cars on Day Trains between Cincinnati and 
Points Enumerated, the Year Round. 


I. D. WOODFORD, Tice-Fres. U8cC0MlGeiLF»l£t 


4 


















JY)E pi^I/T^OSE $EI^IE5 

O JP 

WORLD’S BEST FICTION, 

Comprising translations of the best foreign fiction, together with the 
works of popular English and American Authors. 


ISSUED 5E/T\I-/T\Opf3fiCY. P^ISE, 50 


No. ( Anothe r Man’s Wife, by Bertha M. Clay. 50 
No. 2 The Belle of the Season, by Mrs. Harriet 


Lewis 50 

No. 3 Doctor Jack, by St. George Kathborne 50 

No. 4 Kathleen Douglas, by Julia Truitt Bishop. 50 

No. 5 Her Royal Lover, by Ary Ecilaw 50 

No. 6 Jose, by Otto Ruppius 50 

No. 7 His Word of Honor, by E. Werner 50 

No. 8 A Parisian Romance, by A. 1). Hall 50 

No. 9— A Woman’s Temptation, by Bertha M. 

Clay 50 

No. IO Stella Rosevelt, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 50 

No. I I— Beyond Pardon, by Bertha M. Clay 50 

No. 12 Lost A Pearle, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 50 

No. 13 The Partners, by Alphonse Daudet 50 

No. 14 Sardou’s Cleopatra, by A. l). Hall 50 

No. 15 The Lone Ranch, by Capt. MayneReid... 50 


THE PRIMROSE SERIES combines the highest art of book- 
making with tlie best fiction that can be obtained. For sale by all 
Booksellers and Newsdealers; or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by 

STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, 

P. O. Box 2734. 25-31 Rose Street, New York. 


THE SELECT SERIES 

OF 

POPULAR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT STORIES. 


No. 76 — A PROUD DISHONOR, by Genie Holtzmeyer 

No. 75 — THE WIDOWED BRIDE, by Lucy Randall Comfort 

No. 74— THE GRINDER PAPERS, by Mary Kyle Dallas 

No. 73— BORN TO COMMAND, by Hero Strong 

No. 72 — A MODERN MIRACLE, by James Franklin Fitts 

No. 71— THE SWEET SISTERS OF INCHVARRA, by Annie Ashmore 

No. 70— HIS OTHER WIFE, by Rose Ashleigh 

No. 69 — A SILVER BRAND, by Charles T. Manners 

No. 68— ROSLYN'S TRUST, by Lucy C. Lillie 

No. 67— WILLFUL WINNIE, by Harriet Sherburne 

No. 66— ADAM KENT’S CHOICE, by Humphrey Elliott 

No. 65— LAURA BRAYTON, by Julia Edwards 

No. 64— YOUNG MRS. CHARNLEIGH, by T. W. Hanshew 

No. 63— BORN TO BETRAY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 

No. 62— A STRANGE PILGRIMAGE, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 

No. 61— THE ILLEGAL MARRIAGE, by Hon. Evelyn Ashby 

No. 60— WON ON THE HOMESTRETCH, by Mrs. M. C. Williams .... 

No. 59— WHOSE WIFE IS SHE? by Annie Lisle 

No. 58— KILDHURM’S OAK, by Julian Hawthorne ' 

No. 57— STEPPING-STONES, by Marion Harland 

No. 56— THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT, by Mary A. Denison 

No. 55— ROXY HASTINGS, by P. Hamilton Myers 

No. 54— THE FACE OF ROSENFEL, by C. H. Montague '. 

No. 53— THAT GIRL OF JOHNSON’S, by Jean Kate Ludlum 

No. 52— TRUE TO HERSELF, by Mrs. J. H. Walworth 

No. 51— A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN’S SIN, by Hero Strong 

No, 50 — MARRIED IN MASK, by Mansfield Tracy Walworth 

No. 49-GUILT Y OR NOT GUILTY, by Mrs. M. V. Victor 

No. 48 -THE MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE, by A. M. Douglas 

No. 47— SADIA THE ROSEBUD, by Julia Edwards 

No. 46— A MOMENT OF MADNESS, by Charles J. Bellamy 

No. 45— WEAKER THAN A WOMAN, by Charlotte M. Brame. ...... . 

No. 44— A TRUE ARISTOCRAT, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 

No. 43 — TRIXY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 

No. 42— A DEBT OF VENGEANCE, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins 

No. 41 -BEAUTIFUL RIENZI, by Annie Ashmore 

No. 40 — AT A GIRL’S MERCY, by Jean Kate Ludlum 

No. 39 — MARJORIE DEANE, by Bertha M. Clay 

No. 38— BEAUTIFUL, BUT POOR, by Julia Edwards 

No. 37— IN LOVE’S CRUCIBLE, by Bertha M. Clay 

No. 36— THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay 

No. 35 — CECILE’S MARRIAGE by Lucy Randall Comfort 

No. 34— THE LITTLE WIDOW, by Julia Edwards 

No. 33— THE COUNTY FAIR, by Neil Burgess 

No. 32— LADY RYHOPE’S LOVER, by Emma G. Jones 

No. 31— MARRIED FOR GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins 

No. 30— PRETTIEST OF ALL, by Julia Edwards 

No. 29 -THE HEIRESS OF EGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis 

No. 23 -A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay 


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These popular books are large type editions, well printed, well bound, and 
in handsome covers. For sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage free, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Rose Street, New York. 


4 


P. O. Box 2734. 















































































































































































































































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